Insomnia
by Onari
Summary: After the deal is broken, Sam gets a worrying call from Dean and both Winchesters are forced to face the fact that the past never goes away. AU. Angsty!Sam, Hurt!Dean. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Title:** Insomnia

**Sinopsis:** After the deal is broken, the boys get separated until Sam gets a worrying call from Dean. Angsty!Sam, Hurt!Dean.

**A/N.** I am getting lazier at writing sinopsis, aint' I? It's just that I thought I'd just let you guys figure out the story for yourselves. That is, if someone reads it!! It's been a long time since the last time I posted and it's summer time!

I won't lie to you. Basically, this is a whumping fest of a story that would have two parts. The first one will be in the "present time", that is, after the deal has been broken. The second one will follow the time line but will also have flashbacks showing how the deal was actually broken, because...well, it wasn't pretty and it's got to do with the brothers' behaviour along the story.

This is going to be Sam's POV, and it's been really hard to get into his head, so forgive me for all the nonsense I force him to think or do. It's all my fault, not his! I really hope you'll like the way he evolves as the story advances.

What else...Yeah, there will be a couple of references to this previous story of mine, Remember This, but you don't really need to read (or even re-read it) it if you don't want to, because the relevant part of it sort of explains itself in this one. About spoilers...Well, obviously the deal is mentioned, also the YED, and there're references to Madison, Steve Wendell and the Djinn, but nothing major.

And well, as you may have imagined already, given the way the last season ended, this is completely AU ;-)

I want to thank my beta, Emrys, for being there once again and willingly put up with too many pages of non-native writing! She rocks. Also, my best for one of the stars of this site, Gaelic, who has been really encouraging all these months.

I hope you like it!

* * *

**INSOMNIA**

**Part One**

I just got out of class when my cell rang. Lost in my thoughts as I was, the sudden call startled me. But as soon as I recognized the tone —or rather, the annoying guitar riff Dean had set to piss me off— a relieved smile blossomed on my lips. I had no intention of letting my brother know that I had come to love the melody; the sound of it meant that he was the one calling and that, just for starters, he was alive.

It had been about four months since we had split up. A little over five since the night he had asked me to sit down for a second, and then started a conversation with the oh, so dreaded words, "We need to talk."

"What?" I had asked with an amused tone in my voice. "You gonna break up with me or something?"

When he hadn't answered right away, I had turned around to face him. I remember having felt diffuse apprehension at the sight of his expression, a feeling which had done nothing but grow as he spoke, even though he had meant to follow my lead and keep it light for both our sakes.

"It's not you, it's me?" He had tried with a little smile.

We had killed the yellow eyed demon over a year ago, and I had managed to get my brother out of his deal twelve months later. I guess I should have expected this conversation, but I have to admit that it had come as a total shock.

Dean had sat down across from me and twisted his ring nervously as he spoke. He had told me that it would be better for both of us if we parted ways. The demon was dead, the deal broken. For the first time in our lives there had been no impending doom looming over us. We were free, really free at last —which had been a sensation as intoxicating as it was unsettling— and my brother had thought it was time for me to go back to school.

We had fought that night. Or rather, I had gone ballistic, and he had kept his ground. He had been determined to make me leave before I ended up hating the hunting life. Hating him and then leaving in the end but in a more awful, painful way. He hadn't wanted a second scene like the one we had played out right before Stanford, a scene that had started with yelling and slamming doors and that had followed with years of angry silence. And I... I was terrified that what I had once wanted so badly didn't exist anymore and that insisting on pursuing it would only tear me apart from the only real thing I did have. Not to mention it had made me furious that he had considered it his decision whether or not it was best for me to take the risk of returning to school.

Bottom line, we had been scared of losing each other. But after I had walked out on him that night, we had talked it over more calmly in a second round. We had spoken about what we wanted to have and what we didn't want to lose, about how we could have the first without losing the second. We had talked about how to make it work, of how it didn't have to be a definite arrangement, no, not that. No more, "If you go now, you can stay gone" ever again. He had convinced me that it was worth a try and that, this time, we would make it right.

It had been hard at first. Well, it still was. We had been together for over three years and during that entire time, we hadn't been apart for longer than a few hours. Now I missed him like crazy almost every minute of the day. The trickiest part had been finding our own balance in being separated by dealing with issues such as how many times he could call me a week without it being considered hovering, or how many days I should wait before trying to make contact and not have him unnerved because I had taken too short or too long.

After a few flukes we had tacitly agreed to talk every couple of days at least. He was usually the one who called, because I didn't want to risk placing a call when he was driving 120 mph or trying to be stealthy in the middle of a hunt. However, I bombarded him with text messages anytime the urge struck me. I was so used to having him by my side when I rambled that, sometimes, I just needed to speak my mind to him, no matter how crazy, disjointed or completely random the last thought that had popped to my mind was. Texting allowed me to do just that. And he always answered back; sometimes instantaneously, some other times after a few minutes, maybe hours, but he always replied.

It was also an unspoken rule between the two of us that he would call me before a hunt and check in once he was done with it. Moreover, I had made him promise that he would call me if he needed help. I would drop everything if it was necessary and go meet him if by doing so I could prevent him from doing something stupid. The hardest part of it all was knowing he was by himself, without anybody having his back.

The last time I had heard from him, he had finished up a gig in Colorado and had been headed to Philly to meet up with me. But that had been almost a week ago, and I wasn't ashamed to admit I was starting to get a little worried. That's why the ring of the phone sounded so sweet to my ears.

"Hey, man," I greeted happily as I flipped open my cell. "Where have you been?"

I got no response.

"Dean?"

When no sound came from the other side of the line I frowned slightly and checked the screen to make sure that the call was still connected.

"Dean, you there?" I tried again.

Still no answer. My smile wavered, and I felt my stomach clench a little.

"C'mon..." I pressed, urgency seeping into my voice. "If you're there, say som-"

"Sammy?"

When I heard his voice, I released the breath I had been holding. Relief made me a little light-headed, but I still managed to keep walking to the bus stop. However, I couldn't help noticing he sounded weird. If there was one thing I knew about my brother it was all the possible inflections of his voice when he said my name.

"Hey," I greeted again, my voice a relieved whisper. "What's up, man?" I said, controlling my instincts to ask about his wellbeing. Once, after we hadn't talked for several days in a row, Dean had reproached me for thinking that something bad had happened to him. He had told me that he was sick of me always expecting the worst.

So, now, I was trying to stay positive, but when he took a couple of seconds to answer me, I started to have second thoughts about my good intentions. For good or for bad, I had never been too patient when it came to Dean.

"Sammy..."

His voice came a bit slurred, and my heart rate spiked.

_Drunk?_

Dean had called a few times when he was drunk, and those were the worst of all. He had never said the actual words, but I knew that those were the nights he was feeling especially lonely, in a way that not even a carefully picked one-night stand was able to soothe. That, or something had gone wrong in a gig, probably someone had died and Dean...Dean wouldn't say a word about it, of course, and I had learned not to press. If I did, my brother would probably hang up on me the second my concern got him back to his senses and made him regret the moment of weakness that had had him calling me at odd times in the first place.

I stole a glance at my watch; it was mid-morning. He couldn't be drunk this early, not him. I wet my lips and took in a steadying breath as my brain ran through all the different scenarios that could have taken place. All the while, I mentally triangulated his possible coordinates from what I knew of his last location, the time elapsed since he'd been there, and the direction he had been planning to take.

"I'm here, Dean," I said carefully. "I thought you were coming down to visit. Where have you been keeping yourself?" I added, making an effort to sound cool and non-prodding.

_Where are you?_

"Huh..." Dean muttered on the other side of the line.

I bit my lip. He sounded confused, disoriented.

_Concussed?_

But how? If I wasn't mistaken, the last hunt he had been on had ended well. He had told me he wasn't hurt... And he wouldn't have lied to me about that. Well, he had promised me he wouldn't lie if he was hurt...and another thing I knew about Dean was that he always kept his promises. Had he hidden his injuries from me despite his promise? Was that why I hadn't heard from him for days?

Suddenly, the image of my brother lying alone in a hospital bed made my stomach tighten. Well, in a hospital bed, if the asshole had actually thought of going to a hospital...

"Dean? Tell me, Where. Are. You?" I asked, slowly and deliberately.

While I waited for his answer, I reached the bus stop, and my eyes automatically scanned for any car nearby I could use. Grand theft auto wasn't the smartest idea, maybe, especially when I was supposed to be "starting a new life," but I had no intention of wasting time by finding a rental car. Right now, my only concern was finding my brother.

"Dean!"

And knowing how long it would take to go get him.

"Knight's Inn…in Somerset"

"I'm on my way."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

It took me no longer than three hours to get there. Obviously Dean had been on his way to meet me when he had stopped at the motel, but when had that been? In the time I hadn't heard from him, he should have been able to cover the distance that separated us three times. Twice, taking it easy and with plenty of rest. Besides, unless something was wrong, Dean wouldn't have stopped when he was so close to my place.

When I parked in front of the room the motel clerk directed me to, I spotted the Impala. I had to reach twice for the keys in the ignition, because my hand was shaking so bad I missed the first time.

Instinctively studying my surroundings before giving away my position, I approached the door slowly. The urge to jump to the door was so intense that it ached almost physically when I restrained myself and acted according to the training that has been embedded in me since childhood. As far as I knew, my brother was hurt in there. But for the same reason if the danger was still around, I needed to be cautious.

Once in front of the door, I sent a last glance around before listening for any noises inside. The room was quiet. I felt as if the whole universe had fallen silent, except for the deafening pounding inside my chest. I knocked softly and brought some moisture to my lips before speaking.

"Dean?" I croaked. I cleared my throat and called him again, a bit louder. "Dean! It's me, open up."

When I got no response, I picked the lock without so much as a blink and pushed the door open. Slowly, I slipped inside and closed the door behind me with a soft click. I immediately tossed a look around the room. The scene was familiar, and a warm sensation of belonging enveloped me as soon as I spotted Dean's worn duffle bag on the floor. I hadn't realized how much of my balance depended on Dean, until the simple sight of his stuff scattered around another anonymous motel room steadied my pulse and grounded my spirit. In comparison, it felt as if I had been walking a tightrope all those months I had been living on my own.

I reminded myself that it wasn't the time to dwell on those emotions and reached back to feel the cool surface of my .45, tucked in my waistband. I took a deep breath.

"Dean," I called again, swallowing back the fear of not being able to find him; a fear that threatened to take its grip on me. "De-"

Something moved on my right, and the softest of rustles thundered in my ears. I swirled around, steadily aiming the gun in the direction of the minute commotion as the echoes of the movement still danced in the corner of my eye.

"Dean!" I exclaimed as soon as I recognized the heap curled up in the corner.

Ready to bolt for him, my muscles tensed. But in the last moment I ground my teeth and remembered that I had to secure the place before running to Dean, even if there was a chance he was hurt.

God, he might be hurt.

Surveying Dean's unmoving form over my shoulder as I made sure the room was empty, I advanced backwards towards my brother and craned my neck to peek through the open door of the bathroom. I verified that we were the only ones in the room and breathed out my relief. Then I returned my gun to the back of my jeans and knelt hurriedly next to Dean.

He was sitting with his back against the wall, and his knees pulled to his chest. Although his face wasn't buried in his knees, his head was hanging low and I couldn't quite make out his expression. It worried me that he hadn't even raised his eyes yet. There was no way he hadn't heard me coming in, or call his name, for that matter. I tentatively reached out a hand and ghosted it over his hunched shoulder. After hesitating for only a second I gave him a light shake.

"Hey..." I whispered, ducking my head to try and meet his eyes. He flinched a little, and I felt a renewed spike of worry. A quick, preliminary once-over had revealed no visible injuries, but maybe I had overlooked something.

It all happened so fast that I had no time to react. Dean's head jerked up when I squeezed his shoulder a second time, and his eyes shone with something that wasn't recognition. Then he lurched forwards with unexpected force and sent me hurtling against the bedside table. My shoulder impacted against the corner, and the furniture rattled as I landed on my back. In the blink of an eye, he was on me and had me pressed against the floor.

"Dean!" I yelled, half in pain, half in surprise. "What the fuck, man?"

I tried to get him off me, to yell at him again, but he tightened the deadly grip he had on my wrists. All I could manage was a helpless gasp. Words like possessed and shapeshifter flashed through my mind, and I was about to mutter Christo when I noticed the deadly glare he was pinning me with. That look wasn't one usually aimed at me; it was the one Dean reserved for all the things that threatened our lives. That look was a mixture of coldness, survival and just a bit of apprehension. Dean wasn't attacking me. He was defending himself.

"Dean," I said, trying for a calmer tone. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you, man. It's me. It's Sam."

Dean blinked at me dazedly, and his brow furrowed a little. The hands immobilizing my wrists loosened their hold a notch, but I knew better than to try freeing myself without him actually releasing me.

"Sammy?" he called timidly.

I rolled my eyes at the nickname, although I had to admit the sound of his voice saying it felt good.

"If you really have to put it like that..." I managed a little smile.

"W-What are you doing here?" he asked in a rough voice.

"Do you mind?" I shook my trapped wrists lightly under his hands and arched an eyebrow meaningfully.

It took a couple of seconds until I saw the realization that he was still pinning me to the floor finally sink into his expression. Muttering something indecipherable, he released me and sat back against the wall. His eyes, wide and somewhat bewildered, remained latched onto mine.

"You alright?" He forced out when I rubbed my wrists and then gingerly probed the back of my head.

"Yeah…Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'm sorry...I don't know what-"

"It's alright." I said, emphasizing my words with a wave of my hand. "I shouldn't have startled you."

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? You called me."

"I did…?"

"Yeah, you… you called me this morning..." I trailed off, sensing his confusion. "Man, what's wrong with you?"

Dean was still blinking at me with dulled eyes. I frowned. He looked... beat. But it was more than that. He seemed hazy and looked at me with glassy eyes. He raised a hand and ran it through his hair. His movements were slow, as if he was moving underwater.

"Nothing, I- I… huh…." He shook his head and looked down.

Even his voice sounded off, as if it was coming from a dark place within himself and wasn't aimed at anyone in particular.

"Where have you been? It's been days," I asked, consciously forcing any reproachful edge out of my voice.

My brother looked around and licked his chapped lips before answering.

"I was tired," he replied in a faraway tone. "I thought I'd stop for the night." He frowned and looked back at me as if a sudden thought crossed his mind. "Dude, you shouldn't be here...you have that exam coming on Wednesday. You should be studying."

The lump that had been coming and going intermittently inside my throat sank heavily and gripped coldly at the pit of my stomach. I hadn't thought he would remember my exam —I had randomly mentioned it in a text message a couple of weeks ago— and that he did remember made me feel warm. However...

"Dean, it's Thursday..." I said carefully.

I bit my tongue the moment he looked up at me with a shade of fear in his eyes.

"Oh," he muttered.

"Dean-"

"So, how did it go? I bet you nailed it, didn't you?" he cut me off, recovering quickly and pulling a little smile.

Fighting back the urge to freak out at the obvious disoriented state of my brother, I smiled back and ghosted a hand over his jean-clad ankle, brushing the fabric.

"Yeah," I rasped.

"That's my boy." He grinned with a proud glint in his eyes.

I ducked my head self-consciously and punched him lightly on the arm. Dean gave a soft chuckle and both of us relaxed a bit. When I met his gaze again, he had his head tilted against the wall and looked at me with hooded eyes. A quiet pact of understanding passed between the two of us. I wouldn't ask him. He wouldn't fight me.

Well, at least not yet.

I squeezed his knee and used it as support as I stood up.

"C'mon. I'll drive us back to my place, okay?" I said, offering my hand.

He nodded and grabbed my arm to pull himself up. In less than five minutes we had his meager belongings packed in the Chevy. He went to check himself out at reception while I put his stuff in the trunk. I tracked his movements as he walked, taking in the subtle unsteadiness that marred his steps. I didn't know what to think. It was clear something was wrong with my brother, but I couldn't really put a finger on it. He wasn't hurt, that much I had been able to observe and experience when he had tackled me. If I hadn't known my brother better, I would have said he was stoned. But that was impossible.

Knowing that if I wanted to get to the bottom of the problem I'd have to ask him, or rather, fight the answers out of him, I shook my head. I wasn't about to argue with him when he looked like he was about to keel over at any second. For the time being, it was easier to believe that Dean had gotten seriously wasted the night before and when he had called me he wasn't in any condition to remember his own name, let alone what day it was. It wasn't a particularly far-fetched thought.

Still, the sensation of alarm remained.

Dean smiled at me when he came back, and I returned the smile easily. It was an honest smile born of a sudden surge of possessiveness that had occasionally enveloped me ever since I had broken his deal…

Or maybe it had started before that. Maybe I had been possessive of him since Dad died. All I knew was that it was a feeling of being empowered by the knowledge that no matter how screwed up our lives were, we were together and that was enough. That as long as we were around each other, everything would be alright.

I let the familiar sensation wash away my anxiety for a few seconds as we climbed into the car. I had him with me now —he had called and I had gotten him— and there wasn't anything that we couldn't face side by side.

Yeah, I thought while I maneuvered the car back to the road and glanced at him, sitting back against the headrest with his eyes half-closed. We're gonna fix this, whatever it is.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"We're not far, just a few hours. Why don't you try to catch some sleep on the way there?"

My brother smiled mirthlessly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Don't think that's gonna happen, Sam."

"Why?"

"Because I haven't been able to sleep in the last six days."

* * *

TBC.


	2. Night 7

**I want to thank you all for the warm welcome this story is having. It's so good to be back. Em, you're the best, but you already know that ;-)**

**Oh, I just wanted to clarify something, since I'm afraid I didn't explain myself too well in the previous chapter...I said the story's got 2 parts, but I didn't mean it was a two-shot...Sorry about that! the story will probably have around 11 or 12 chapters **

**I hope you like chapter 2, maybe nothing really happens but...you know, we're getting started. **

* * *

**INSOMNIA**

**Chapter Two. Night 7**

We got to my apartment by evening. Dean hadn't said a word since his disturbing revelation in the car. He had just closed his eyes and let his head loll limply against the headrest with the car's movement, while his words hung gravely in the air. Despite the nauseous sensation I was nursing in the pit of my stomach at his crushed appearance, I hadn't wanted to disturb him. Instead I had chosen to leave him alone as I digested the information.

_I haven't been able to sleep in the last six days._

"We're here," I announced.

My voice seemed too loud, almost out of place, after a silence that had stretched between us for hours. My brother blinked his eyes open and stared bleakly through the window. His body seemed heavy; it was buried into the seat as if his limbs were burdened with three times the force of gravity. Still, he seemed marginally better. More alert. He glanced at the two-story building, where I occupied the attic, and smirked at me.

"Home sweet home."

I nudged him playfully, eliciting a huff and an even wider grin from him. Then I got out of the car, intending to grab his bag from the trunk. He went out too and stood awkwardly by the car, as if he was unsure whether he should move forward to the house or wait for me. He frowned when he realized what I was doing and made a step towards me to reach out for his bag.

"I got it," I said, giving him the keys instead.

He stared blankly at the keys which had landed suddenly in his hand and then questioningly back at me.

"Go open the door, moron," I said as I arched an eyebrow at him.

"I can carry my own bag, Sam," he grumbled.

I sighed inwardly, unable to remember how many times I had heard him saying that when he was hurt, and how many times he had suddenly developed an inability to carry anything heavier than a pen when he was perfectly healthy.

"Good to know." I glared at him, undeterred. "Just imagine how worried I'd be if you couldn't."

Dean scowled at me and bit his lip. Probably bit his tongue too, since he was gracious enough to let it go with an aggravated grunt of, "Whatever" and head to the door as sulkily as he could manage.

God, it had been awfully easy. He really wasn't feeling so great.

I followed him up the stairs with his bag. He hesitated by the door and tossed an uneasy look in my direction.

"What...?" I stared back at him. Dean wasn't exactly the "May I come in?" type. "Just open the door, man."

Dean did as he was told and we entered the apartment. It wasn't very big, but that was okay. It had a small living room, a bedroom and a study, a bathroom with a tub and a fairly well equipped kitchen. I had rented it with the basic furniture and we had painted it together before I moved in.

Painting the apartment with Dean had been a good day. We had ended up with more paint on us than on the walls and had laughed so hard tears had come to our eyes. The smell of fresh paint had been everywhere for days, but it had been overwhelming that first night. We couldn't stay and sleep in the apartment and had to go to a motel instead. It had been the last night we had spent side by side in an anonymous room with two queens. And I came out of the whole experience probably being the only person on the planet digging the smell of paint.

"You haven't made many changes," he commented, as he tossed a look around.

Dragged back to the present by the remark, I dropped the bag and shrugged one shoulder. I knew what he meant; the walls were practically naked, and I hadn't taken the time to, I don't know, decorate the place much. But I was used to the Spartan severity our father had raised us in, and I admit it hadn't bothered me much.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. "I've got pizzas in the freezer."

Dean made a face. I could have sworn he even lost a bit of color. I came a bit closer, but stopped at a reasonable distance when I saw him crossing his arms in a protective gesture.

"I'm not really hungry," he said, leaning against the back of the couch.

Just when I was about to ask him when the last time he'd eaten had been, I changed my mind. He certainly looked thinner, almost gaunt, but I wasn't sure if it was because of lack of sleep or lack of food. It was probably a combination of the two. But what I was sure of was that he wouldn't appreciate the concern. And I didn't want to fight, at least until I had him fed, settled and spilling what the hell the words he had uttered in the car were about.

"Yeah, well, you still have to eat, though," I said, gruffly.

Dean arched an eyebrow, mildly amused.

"Is that an order?"

"Don't be a prick, Dean," I huffed as I entered the kitchen. "Pepperoni or anchovy?"

He stood where he was, stunned. After a beat, he came to the kitchen door and shook his head.

"Since when are you so bossy?"

"Am not," I said simply, putting the pizzas into the oven. I looked up at him over my shoulder to see him still leaning against the door frame. "What are you waiting for, an official invitation? Sit down, man." I nodded to the kitchen table.

I had meant it teasingly, but his eyes shone with something resembling self-consciousness. I felt cold all of a sudden. Why was everything so awkward? And since when did Dean feel out of place around me?

"You never answered me."

"Answered what?"

"Pepperoni or anchovy?"

Dean snorted and plopped down on the closest chair.

"Man..." he chided. "You really gotta ask?"

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Half an hour later, we were sitting at the table with food and drink before us —beer for me, and coffee, "please, make it strong", for gulping his coffee like a parched man that had found water in the middle of the desert, he dragged me into lightweight talk about college, about how many ways Metallica beat the hell out of any modern emo shit, and about why Angelina Jolie was the hottest chick ever, no contest.

After a while, the air around us was definitely lighter. Dean seemed more at ease, and I felt I could start to unwind too. It would have felt normal, if it wasn't for the fact that Dean had barely touched his food and seemed about to pass out any minute. I was unable to fool myself that everything was good or to enjoy the much expected moment of peace and comfortable company of my brother. As much as I wanted to delay it, as much as he was trying to sidestep it, I was going to have to breach the subject.

"So..." I started, noticing how he immediately averted his eyes, as if he sensed that my next words weren't going to revolve around Angelina's assets.

"So?" he grumbled, with a note of belligerency.

I sighed inwardly and pressed on.

"What's that about not sleeping?" I asked evenly, trying to shove my concern behind a layer of casualness, since it was the only way I could prevent Dean from hiding away.

"Probably nothing." He shrugged, toying with the corner of the napkin.

"Dean," I said, refusing to let it go, "I think it's definitely something."

"Well, it's not anything you need to make a big deal over," he said, shaking his head stubbornly.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, in and out, and hoped it would be enough to restrain the sudden urge to choke him.

"Yeah, tell me that the next time I find you on the floor practically catatonic," I grumbled under my breath.

Dean glared at me; I could see in his eyes that he was less angry than hurt by my words, and I immediately regretted them.

"Well, sorry for calling you," he said, huffing in aggravation.

He started to stand up, probably determined to leave, but I jumped to my feet and caught his wrist so fast that I almost threw him off balance.

"Du-!" he began to exclaim.

"Don't even think about it," I warned him with a stern voice. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Let go."

"Talk to me."

"Let. Go."

"Then talk to me!"

We held each other's gaze for a few, tense seconds. My brother was still half slumped on the chair, and his muscles were rigid while I held his wrists unyieldingly and pinned him with a determined glare. For a moment I had the weird certainty that he would take a swing at me, and I vaguely wondered how we had ended up ready to throw punches when that had been the last thing I had wanted to do. Besides, Dean was in no condition to get in a physical fight with me. Ashamed by the realization, I deflated, looked down, and loosened my hold on him. He released his arm from my grasp with a pull, but instead of bolting out of the kitchen, he sat back on the chair and rubbed his wrist moodily.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, taking a step back and leaning against the edge of the table. Dean shook his head imperceptibly and rolled his eyes, obviously unwilling to hear my apologies. "I-" I swallowed down my frustration at my inability to find the right words to say. "I..." I trailed off, angry at myself. "I'm just worried, man," I finally confessed.

To hell with casualness.

"You scared me back there," I added.

Dean sighed and muttered in a conciliatory tone.

"I know."

He gave me a sheepish smile when, encouraged by his tone I dared to look up at him again.

"And I'm sorry about that, okay? But I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he continued. "Probably I'm still too wired after the last gig." He chuckled. "It was kind of creepy."

I sat on my chair again across from my brother. Maybe he was right, maybe I was overreacting. But the last time Dean suffered from insomnia hadn't been pretty. It had been shortly after the events in Cold Oak, after the deal had been made. After I had been...well, killed. For a while my brother hadn't been able to sleep, since the memories of my death still haunted him. That time he had also been stubborn about talking, even though it was clear that the continuous sleepless nights had been taking their toll on him to the point where the integrity of him doing his job had been endangered.

Knowing that something similar was happening to him now and that I hadn't been with him at its initiation to get him through it, made me feel sick. I couldn't help but wonder what could have happened on the hunt that would have affected him so much. But if getting Dean to talk was the key to getting to the bottom of the problem then, well, come hell or high water I was going to get Dean to talk.

"What was it about?" I asked.

Dean sighed and stretched his muscles, taking a sip of coffee before answering.

"Something was attacking people in their sleep. There had been several cases of people admitted to the hospital who claimed that a sudden pressure on their chests stole their breath away and pinned them to their beds while they slept. They also talked about voices haunting them and hallucinations. Doctors had written it off as this syndrome called sleep paralysis. Something about this phase of sleep, the hypo..."

"Hypnagogic, yeah..." I muttered pensively. "Hypnagogic paralysis is known to cause those kinds of symptoms."

"Thing is, the cases were too many and too specifically located. Statistically, it didn't make any sense. And then, people started to die."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah, I mean, nobody dies from a Hypi…Hypen…whatever, right? So it had to be something else."

"Strigha?"

"Couldn't be. It attacked both children and adults."

I took a deep breath. The word slipped from my lips in fearful reverence.

"Mara."

Dean nodded.

"Good old haglock on the loose."

"What did you do?"

"Well, for a start, I made sure to stay awake for the two days it took me to find its corporeal form. I couldn't risk being prey to it too."

I looked down, momentarily overcome by a blood-soaring pang of guilt. If I had been there, Dean wouldn't have had to keep himself awake those nights. We could have taken turns or something while we kept watch for the mara. If anything, it would have been less exhausting...

Completely unaware of my sudden guilt trip, Dean continued talking. For him, there was certainly nothing I should be feeling guilty about, and he definitely hadn't had the slightest intention of hinting otherwise. Therefore, it didn't even occur to him that there was any reason for me to be mentally beating myself up. And I was glad about that, because if he knew how I was feeling he would stop talking altogether.

"Anyway, I finally figured out its pattern and then located the bitch. I think it was by the end of the third day. I wasted it that night and headed out of town. I meant to drive a couple hundred miles or so, get myself far enough from there and then stop somewhere to catch some sleep, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't know. I wasn't really sleepy so I thought, what the hell, might as well keep going."

"Man, it was...what? Your third sleepless night in a row? Weren't you tired?"

"I was tired," he grumbled petulantly. "What I said was that I wasn't sleepy."

"Weren't sleepy or couldn't sleep?"

"Is there a difference?"

I rolled my eyes and shot him a meaningful look that clearly expressed how much of a difference I thought there was. Dean answered with an overly dramatic eye roll of his own.

"Whatever. I just figured I was still too hyped up after all the coffee I had had during the previous days," he said dismissingly, while taking another gulp of said beverage. "I wasn't going to stop and waste money on a motel when I could keep driving and stop when I actually needed to sleep."

I sighed, seeing the logic of my brother's reasoning despite myself. I also heard what he didn't say. What he wouldn't say, not with words, ever; that he had also been looking forward to seeing me, and he had thought that making our reunion a night sooner wouldn't hurt.

"So, when did you stop?" I asked carefully.

Dean gulped and frowned slightly, as if he was trying to clear his thoughts.

"The following night," he said softly.

_Fourth night_, I counted mentally.

"I wanted to go on, but...you know," he said, and shrugged sheepishly.

_But you were dead on your feet_, I read between the lines effortlessly and gave him a sympathetic smile. He took notice of it, looked down at his barely touched food and started to finger the napkin again. He was obviously uncomfortable. When he spoke he looked out the window or glanced at the fridge and the door. In short, he avoided my eyes as much as he could.

"There's nothing much to tell. I tried to sleep. I couldn't. I was tossing and turning in the friggin' bed for hours. Not that it was that comfortable anyway, I mean, really. Who could actually catch some sleep on that block of lumpy stone?" he finished with a huff.

"Yeah." I chuckled softly, echoing the sentiment, knowing how to make it easier on him. "We've had to crash in some places, huh?"

Dean smiled. My gaze softened at the exhausted lines and dark circles under his eyes. The remaining traces of the drained, fearful emptiness I had glimpsed when he didn't recognize me in the motel were shoved deep under the surface for the time being.

"And then what?" I prompted.

"Then nothing." He finished up his coffee. "You found me."

I shook my head.

"But I didn't find you until today..." I muttered, almost to myself. Then I remembered my brother's confusion about the date and frowned. "Dean, when was all that? How long since...?"

"I wasted the mara last Sunday," he replied vaguely.

"But, Dean," Í started, making the mental calculations as I spoke, "that means that you- you spent three days in that motel room."

Dean shrugged absently.

"I guess... If I have to be honest, it all became a bit fuzzy after a while."

The sincerity and vulnerability of his confession made my heart plummet. I repressed the impulse to stand up and move closer to him. He wouldn't appreciate me hovering, especially since he was feeling vulnerable, and my concern would probably feel like an attack. Instead, I lowered my gaze to his barely touched piece of pepperoni pizza and realised that I hadn't seen any traces of food around his hotel room to give the indication that my brother had eaten at all during the time he had remained trapped in a blurry turmoil of night and day.

"You're telling me that you haven't gotten any sleep in all this time?" I asked fearfully.

I felt Dean blinking and trying to focus on me more than I actually saw him doing it. I sensed his openness coming to a halt to be buried under a carefully schooled front of blank stoicism at my worried tone of voice. I cleared my throat and tried to get rid of it before I lost my brother completely.

"And you're sure the mara's got nothing to do with it? It didn't do anything to you, did it?"

"No, Sam," he said, sitting a bit straighter on the chair. "It was a clean waste. I found the corporeal form while the spirit was hunting, stabbed it with consecrated iron to drag the spirit back, and tied it to the body. Then I repeated..."

"…You are a mara…"

"...three times." Dean said, finishing with a nod. "Then I salted and burned the body. That was it."

"But didn't it tell you anything? It didn't try to do anything at all?"

"I've told you. No, It. Didn't. Do. Anything!" he hissed tersely.

"Well, excuse me!" I bit back, riled up at his tone. "Sorry for thinking that suffering from a sleep disorder after fighting a sleep spirit might have some kind of esoteric connection!"

"I'm not suffering from anything!" Dean protested.

"Dean! You haven't slept for a week!" I cried as I got to my feet and paced with my hands behind my head.

"Six days."

"What?"

"Six days," he repeated.

I turned around to face him with an incredulous look plastered across my face, but all my animosity crashed against the tentative smirk that tugged up the corner of his lips.

"Smartass." I sighed, shaking my head.

His smile widened as he looked down at his plate again. After a bit of silence, he yawned and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"It's late. I'll get the sofa bed ready for you, alright?" I offered, heading to the door.

Dean let out a low snort, but nodded with his face in both hands now.

"Try to eat some more," I said before leaving the kitchen.

I retrieved the bed linens from a cupboard in my room and proceeded to convert the sofa into a double bed. Dean came out of the kitchen a few minutes later, and I abandoned any hopes that he had actually managed to eat anything else.

"Let me help you," he said, nodding to the half converted bed.

"Nah, it's alright."

Of course he ignored me and took his position on the other side of the sofa to unfold it. I peeked at him from my crouched position before pulling the bed out. God, he looked terrible. Just half an hour before he had looked simply worn out, but now he looked dead on his feet. The speed at which he was crashing was scary; coffee seemed to have perked him up for a while, but now he was definitely going downhill.

I wanted to believe him and think his insomnia was simply due to accumulated stress. If stress was the reason for Dean's sleeplessness, it would mean that maybe here, with me, he would feel safe enough to let go and rest. He certainly needed it.

As soon as we got the bed ready, he sat on the edge. I thought he was going to lie down, but he remained seated—or, rather, slumped on it. Eying him critically, I went around the bed and crouched in front of him. He sensed that I was close then and shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind so he could face me with his patented "I'm fine" look. I decided to spare him the effort.

"You need anything?" I asked him. "There're more blankets in the cupboard, and towels and clean shirts...Anything."

He looked up at me, tired, and amused, and...Dean. I stopped rambling then and couldn't help the soft smile that curved my lips. Before I realized I was doing it, I placed my hand on his knee and given him a gentle squeeze. And the strangest part of all was that he didn't stop me.

"I'm good," he answered. "Thanks, Sammy."

I nodded and gave his knee another squeeze before standing.

"Get some rest." I reached out to slap his arm. He ducked his head and pushed me playfully. "And...call me if you need anything, alright?" I added.

It felt awkward having Dean there and leaving. It felt weird not sleeping in a bed by his side.

"Yeah, yeah, go get your beauty sleep, college boy. I'll be fine," he said, dismissing me.

I stopped at the door and hovered there for a second.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you called," I said truthfully. "I'm glad you're here."

He huffed, but when he met my eyes, his were warm.

"Night, Sam."

"Good night."

I went to my own room and left the door open, so I heard how my brother stretched on the bed and sighed. I eyed my own bed, feeling the pull of weariness dragging me to it. But I resisted the strong urge to sleep. Instead, I sat in front of the computer and turned it on to begin my research about the mara.

It was the seventh night that my brother was wide awake. But on this night, I would be there and awake with him.

* * *

**TBC**

**So, sorry about how short this was (I gotta confess chapters 1 and 2 were always only one in my mind, but splitting it into two seemed like a good a idea to begin the story. Next chapter will be longer! And I really hope I'll be able to post before going on vacation, but if I can't...please be patient, because...guess what? I'll be in the US for the first time in my life!!**

**Love xx**


	3. Night 8

**Here you have, the third chapter before vacaction thanks to Emrys the Great! Thanks to all the people who reviewed, and also thank you all for reading. Oh, and to those who wished me a happy vacation time...triple thanks!**

**INSOMNIA**

**Chapter Three. Night 8**

I woke up to the smell of coffee and found myself slumped face first on my bed with the laptop just a few inches from my nose. I recalled that at some point in the wee hours of the night, I had considered that it would be more productive to vacate the desk in favour of the bed, since my back and neck were hurting too much to concentrate. However, after long hours of research without definite results, I wasn't sure of how much time had lapsed between changing my base of operations and when I had fallen asleep.

A glance at the clock revealed that it was a little before seven so, let's face it, not much time could have lapsed. I got up and went to the living room while I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The sofa bed was already neatly folded into a regular sofa, and the sheets were piled up on one of the cushions. I arched an eyebrow, because I was aware that my brother was not the 'folding clothes and making beds type,' –and given the motel to motel childhood we had enjoyed for the most part, I couldn't really blame him. And speaking of Dean, he wasn't in the living room.

I followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen and found him there, making toast and brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"About time, princess," he chirped, without even looking at me. "Hope you're hungry."

My stomach betrayed me, rumbling at the sight of the toast.

"I'll take that as a yes." He chuckled.

I felt like smiling, suddenly very happy about just having him there. However, I couldn't overlook that he didn't seem steady on his feet and he tended to remain near the walls or any piece of furniture he could reach out for in order to balance himself.

"How long have you been up?" I asked.

At least my question was less aggressive than _how much coffee have you had already?_ or _did you sleep at all_? Of course, my brother understood the question for what it was and gave a non-committal reply.

"A while."

Time for considerate questioning would have to come to an end.

"How are you feeling?"

Dean half-glared, half-pouted at me. I felt bad, because there he was wholeheartedly offering breakfast, and I was cornering him with a question we were both conditioned neither to ask nor answer. Asking would normally lead to forcing out a lie or, even worse, a truthful confession of weakness.

"I'm fine."

_And __here we go_...

I sighed and sat down resignedly. I know he noticed the emotion. I even saw him hesitating for a second to consider the possibility of dropping the act a few inches...for my sake. But I didn't want him doing it for me, so I changed the course of the uncomfortable conversation.

"Nice toast. You didn't burn it or anything," I teased.

Momentarily surprised by the diversion I provided, his eyes flickered over mine and then he visibly relaxed.

"Yeah, well...you didn't see the first batch," he joked back.

I smiled. Yeah, definitely better having him joking than looking at me like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey, Sam," he began, just as I took the first bite of my toast, "do you mind if I take a shower?"

I couldn't help but frown at his recent acquired tentative behaviour. It was...unnerving.

"You don't have to ask, Dean," I insisted. "Do you have everything you need? There're towels in the bathroom. Like _real _towels," I said glowing.

He chuckled at the remark, probably remembering a lifetime of flimsy motel rags too.

"Yeah, I could get used to that," he muttered dreamily.

I knew he was just playing along, but I thought I sensed a hint of sadness in his voice that shadowed the good mood of just a second before. It was Dean, once more, who made me snap out of my morose thoughts when he moved towards the bathroom.

"What? Wait! You're not going to have breakfast?"

He turned to look at the toast, not quite concealing a queasy grimace.

"I had something before. Dude, you sleep like a log," he said, before disappearing through the door.

I didn't have a chance to reply. All I could do was swallow down the bitter knowledge that it was the second time he had lied about his health in the span of ten minutes. It was also the second time I was going to let him get away with it. Defeated, I finished my breakfast with far less appetite than before. Funny, how the tables had been turned. For years it had been me who hardly managed to catch a few good hours of sleep at night, while he just needed to hit the pillow to fall into an alert, but peaceful slumber. What had he done for me all those drowsy mornings? How had he gotten me through the sleepless nights?

I'd let him take his shower; it would do him good. But afterwards he needed to eat, whether he liked it or not.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

I had already put the dishes away when he came out of the bathroom. His hair was dripping, but he had dressed in fresh clothes. I observed that some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to have eased, and I was glad that the hot water had helped. However, it was still hard to ignore the dark circles under his eyes or the air of weariness about him.

"Man! I gotta say," he commented, probably to break a silence that made him feel like he was being watched under a microscope, "I love your towels!"

I gave a laugh and winked at him mischievously.

"Then wait until you see this."

I guided him to the back of the kitchen and opened the door of a tiny room. His eyes widened in surprise.

"When did you buy a washing machine?" he asked, enthusiastically.

I chuckled at the squeak in his voice; he sounded like an excited child after finding his presents under the Christmas tree. But, hey, I was the first person to understand that leaving behind a lifetime of Laundromats was a big thing.

"Last week," I replied. "So, if you have some laundry to do, here's your chance to do it, you know… without paying."

He pushed me against the doorframe in retaliation for my choice of words, eliciting a new chuckle from me.

"Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

And that said it all.

I went to take a shower and got dressed before joining him back in the living room. He was flipping channels absently. His eyes greeted mine, and he smiled; it was the kind of smile that, though not really reaching his lips, was there in his eyes and let me know that he was glad to see me. I realize now that Dean has looked at me like that a great deal over the years, one way or another always happy, _relieved_, to have me within sight, even if we had been apart only for the few minutes that it took me to go to the bathroom. Especially, he looked at me like that when he felt insecure for some reason. It was one of the few ways my brother allowed himself to let me in, just a little. One of the signs that I had learned to read better than anyone.

"Should we go anywhere or stay in today?" I asked him, plopping down on the couch by his side.

"What do you mean, _we_?" he admonished. "Don't you have school?"

I shrugged slightly. I mean, yeah I had a couple of classes that day, but c'mon, Dean was there! I wasn't planning on ditching him for school when I had finally gotten him to...visit, or whatever you wanted to call it.

"Nah," I replied. "Nothing important."

"Sam," he warned.

"A couple of hours, three maybe. It's not a big deal."

"Sam, you're not skipping class," he said responsibly.

I stared at him, half challenging and half amused. He rolled his eyes.

"Sammy, you do not skip classes. You hate skipping classes. You like going to them, and writing like mad, and nodding at the professors and going all geeky when they ask questions. That's what you do, and you love it. That was the whole point of..." Dean trailed off with a sigh. "I mean, God, I still remember how upset you got whenever Dad made you..."

"I can borrow the notes," I said, cutting him off with a little smile.

In a way, I felt touched that he was trying so hard to be supportive of my 'way of life,' by doing his best to remember my exams and making sure I went to class. I knew that he was trying to make up for last time.

To make up for Dad.

"You don't have to do that. I'm not a kid, I'll find something to keep me busy," he said stubbornly, eyes downcast.

Most especially, he was trying not to be a burden on me, because the second he felt like he was, he would most certainly leave. And I wasn't going to let him do that.

"Ok," I relented, "I'll make you a deal. We go to the campus, let me show you around a bit. Then I go to class and meet you for lunch."

"Sounds fine..." Dean said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously on me.

I met his gaze squarely.

"On one condition. That you have something to eat at the cafeteria before I leave." Dean averted his eyes, but I pushed. "They have some good muffins"

"Sam, I told you..."

"Yeah, and I didn't buy it. Look, man, I understand that you're not hungry, but you gotta try to get something solid into you, I..." I bit my lip, reading in his closed look that I was going to need a final push. "I've been there, alright? The not sleeping and the barely eating, and I know it sucks, but it will get worse if you don't keep your strength up. You told me that yourself once, remember?"

Dean wouldn't look at me for a long while, and I could sense the fight taking place within him as clearly as if I was actually watching two forces colliding. After a minute, he closed his eyes and gave in with an overly dramatic sigh.

"Alright, alright...God, I swear, sometimes you're like a freaking pit bull with a bone," he grumbled.

My face lit up.

"Yeah," I replied, grabbing my jacket, "it's part of my charm."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

I drove the Impala to the campus and, as promised, I walked Dean around some of the main buildings. The place was already full of students, voices and laughter, and it bubbled with a kind of life neither my brother nor I were used to having around in our solitary existences. Part of me felt a bit guilty, because I knew that Dean was tired and maybe it would have been better to have him stay home. But I wanted to keep him close. And I guess that I also wanted to show him a piece of my new world and, so help me God, maybe get him to like it...just a little bit. I guess it was the part of me that was looking for a way to make him stay. That despite knowing I was most probably fooling myself, I still believed that there was a slight possibility that now that I had him back I wouldn't have to let him go again. Then maybe, only maybe, my 'old world' would complete my 'new world' and something would eventually make sense in the fucking universe.

Around half an hour before my first class, I finally lead him to the cafeteria. He honored his promise and made a real, hard to hide, painful to watch effort to eat his muffin and keep it down.

"There's no rush," I commented casually, taking a deliberately slow sip of my mid-morning coffee.

He flashed a look in my direction and swallowed uncomfortably at my attention, but he did start to pick smaller bits and munch them carefully. I grimaced internally in sympathy and made sure I made no more comment about how hard swallowing seemed for him, even to cheer him in the process or to praise him when he finally managed to finish his breakfast.

"You done staring?" he asked without real heat in his voice.

I blinked at him, knowing that I had been caught in the act.

"'Cause you're gonna be late for class."

I glanced at my watch. It was true, I was running late already.

"You sure you'll be alright by yourself?" I asked one last time, earning myself an exasperated glare.

"Dude, I'm not five, okay? I'll be just fine."

I nodded and stood up. I still felt a little reluctant, but it wasn't only because I was worried about him, as he thought, but also because...I don't know, I just didn't feel like being apart so soon. Then again, I was aware that I was getting annoying.

"Fine, meet you in three hours," I concluded.

He shoved me away as goodbye.

"Listen to the teacher," he called, waving at me from his booth, "and be nice with the other kids!"

I flipped him the finger and still had time to hear his low chuckle before I headed to my lesson.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Morning went by uneventfully, packed with lessons and seminars that I couldn't help but find just a little less thrilling than the week before. I think that Dean would have laughed if I told him that, right before brushing it off with a muttered 'whatever, you're still a geek.' And he would have been right. I am a geek, albeit one who is a little bit older and maybe just a little bit wiser too with my priorities a little bit less fucked up.

The sun was shining radiantly in the sky when I came out of the building. I tossed a look around, searching for Dean. Actually, we had agreed to meet back at the cafeteria, but somehow monitoring my surroundings and expecting to spot him nearby had become second nature for me.

I didn't see Dean, but I saw Josh, one of my classmates in many seminars. He waved at me, and I smiled at him as he approached. We were good friends, which meant that he accepted my moods swings and I felt especially guilty knowing he could never learn the real reason behind them. In short, he was a really nice guy. The kind of person that gave meaning to a life I was no longer leading.

"Hey, Sam," he greeted.

"Hey, Josh. Didn't see you in class."

"Yeah..." he drawled, as he scratched the back of his neck and pulled an apologetic face, "about that..."

"You want the notes?"

Josh grinned.

"If you insist."

I snorted and passed him my notebook.

"Thanks, man," he said sincerely.

"It's alright."

We both started walking.

"Hey, are you going to lunch? Do you want to go to that hamburger place across the street?"

"Mmm, actually..." I swallowed, unsure of what to say.

I had to remind myself that it wasn't Stanford.

"I'm going to find my brother at the cafeteria."

"Oh," Josh smiled. "He's here?"

I nodded, warmed by the fact that my friend was honestly happy for me. I hadn't talked to him about Dean very much, because well, small talk about his whereabouts and activities was tricky and talking for real about him was _complicated_. But I had promised myself that my family would no longer be a secret or a taboo this time around. Josh had seen me calling Dean, and he knew that I had been looking forward to seeing him for a long while, even if he didn't know the exact terms and the reasons that kept him busy and away. In fact, I believe Josh thought we were pretty normal, just a couple of brothers that got along and missed each other. And the idea that we appeared normal to anybody was extremely funny and comforting at the same time.

"That's great!" He clapped my shoulder and then hesitated for a second, before adding, "Well, let me know if you guys wanna go out for a drink or anything. You're boring, so if your brother wants some real fun..."

"I'm not boring!"

"Really? When was the last time I dragged you to a club, Sam?"

"Ah, God." I groaned dramatically. "You'd like Dean."

Josh laughed good-naturedly. I had to smile too. It was true he would like my brother and probably Dean would like him as well. Maybe that was part of the reason I had liked Josh in the first place.

We stopped at the door of the cafeteria and Josh shoved my notes into his bag.

"Anyway," he began his goodbyes, clearly not wanting to impose even though I knew he was curious about Dean. "I'll leave you to your little family reunion. See you around?"

"Sure. But you can come and say hello, you know. That's alright..." I trailed off, as I scoped the interior through the window. "Only he's not here."

Josh probably noticed the hint of concern in my voice, because after throwing a quick glance over the tables, he leaned casually against the wall. It was obvious that he no longer intended to go but had decided to keep me company until Dean showed up.

"Were you supposed to meet him after class?"

"Yep."

"Well, if he's anything like you, he would have checked out some of the libraries, and then he would have lost track of time".

I chuckled.

"Not likely." I sighed. "Hey, Josh, I'm fine. If you need to go..."

All of a sudden, a terrible screech of brakes stole the rest of my words. I went rigid, alert, and we immediately turned towards the origin of the sound. The people walking in the area had also fallen silent, their conversations interrupted as they peered towards the street. Some of them were crowding around a grey car across the street. Soon the muttered voices reached us.

"What happened?"

"I don't know...Someone's been hit by a car-"

I started running as fast as my legs allowed me even before I heard the end of the sentence. I knew it was Dean before I saw him. I can't explain how I knew; I guess it was simply instinct, the same instinct that allowed me to know when he was in trouble on a hunt, even if we weren't together. I pushed the little crowd of onlookers out of my way and managed to get to the car. I barely heard the voices around me, since my sole focus was on the person slumped on the ground just a few inches from the front of the grey SUV. With my heart pounding madly, I crossed the last feet that separated me from him.

"Dean!"

My brother was sitting on the road, sluggishly trying to stand up while batting away the prodding hands of the few curious individuals that dared to touch him. There were a lot of people talking at the same time; the driver of the car was nervously pacing nearby, ranting about the damn kid that had appeared from nowhere, while a few witnesses commented that Dean had crossed without looking and seemed drunk. Then they were starting to talk about drugs, yeah,_ most probably drugs_, and soon the murmurs had become lower, more venomous. Yet nobody seemed ready to leave the show and give my brother some room to_ breathe_.

"Dean," I repeated, kneeling in front of him and grabbing his arms.

He startled and tried to pull away without even looking up. I shifted, gripped his arms more firmly and pulled him to me, becoming a wall in his field of vision that effectively shielded him from the strangers' stares.

"It's me, it's me," I shushed.

Dean looked up and met my eyes with such a strong mix of emotions on his face that I literally felt the world disappear around us. Outside of us. As soon as his eyes zeroed on me, he reached for my arms too. It was easy to ignore the commotion at that moment. The comments of the witnesses became muffled, distant. I even stopped feeling the urge to rip the driver's throat; as long as he stayed out of our bubble, I couldn't be bothered.

"You hurt?" I asked, my tone gentle despite the roughness of my voice.

Dean blinked, somehow _reacted _to my concern and, before I had time to process it pulled at least part of his barriers up and slowly let go of me.

"I'm alright," he forced out, mostly concealing the shaking in his voice. "I'm alright, he- he didn't hit me."

I sucked in a breath. My whole body was tingling as the violent alertness of adrenaline muted into a weakening wave of relief and deferred fear. I looked Dean over in order to confirm that he wasn't injured. _It didn't hit him...It didn't hit him... _I kept repeating to myself, in an attempt to cement those words in my head over the phantom memory of the sound of slamming brakes.

"Sammy..." Dean pleaded under his breath.

I swallowed and nodded at him to convey that I understood. He may not have been seriously injured, but he wasn't fine. In fact, a single look at his face told me he was badly shaken. And if his face hadn't spoken volumes, then him calling me Sammy without an agenda to piss me off or order me around would have been meaningful enough.

I grabbed his elbow and helped him up, making sure that I remained between him and everyone else when he swayed.

"See? He's drunk. I didn't even hit him! Slammed the brakes, and he jumped and lost his balance!" the driver exclaimed.

I clenched my jaw and dragged Dean away, gently but firmly despite his unsteady pace. I needed to get Dean away before the urge to kill the driver coupled with the certainty that _I knew how to do it_ made be turn back and do something I might _not_ regret later.

With his eyes glued to the ground and his mouth sealed, my brother managed to keep up with me. People moved out of our way automatically, and those who didn't changed their minds after I shot them a scorching glare. I took Dean to a bench a few feet from the scene, because judging by the way he tilted against my body for support I sensed that he needed to sit down. Once there, I guided him down, and he gratefully sank down onto the hard seat. Immediately, he bent forwards and held his head in his hands.

Unconsciously trying to offer him as much privacy as I could while he struggled to get a grip, I stood by him. And he was struggling hard, that much I knew. He was clearly dizzy; I could tell by how pale he was and how his hands trembled while he held his head. Unfortunately there was nothing I could really do, so I just stood by him and watched as he swallowed a couple of times and took deep controlled breaths.

I wanted to ask him what had happened. What the hell had he been thinking when he had crossed the street without looking out for cars? However, the sight of his misery disarmed me, so I just hovered over his slouched form and ached to help him in some useful way. Instead, I could only stare at him, and I felt no better than the rest of the nosy bystanders who didn't know shit.

"Hey."

I heard the call behind me and, ready to send who ever it was away, I swirled around on instinct. But when I came face to face with Josh, I held the punch I had been ready to throw and the snarl I had been ready to bark. I stood there, frozen, looking into my friends eyes with a heavy lump in my throat.

"Is he alright?" Josh asked me, nodding at Dean.

His tone was calm, unthreatening. And the question had such a simple answer that I almost burst into laughter.

_No._

"Yeah," I rasped, "yeah, he's fine."

Josh gave me a faint smile and looked over at Dean, took a step towards him and held out something.

"Hey, man. Here."

It was a bottle of water. Dean lifted his eyes a notch and tensed for a minute when he saw a stranger coming close -although Josh had pretty much remained by my side and wasn't invading Dean's space. Then he glanced at me; I nodded and he accepted the water, tossing Josh an acknowledging look.

Josh stepped back and clapped my arm sympathetically. I blinked hard against the sudden tears that pooled in my eyes. It just wasn't fair. I had wanted him to meet my brother, but not like this. He was supposed to see Dean like, you know, the strong, brave, loyal and funny guy he was: the _hero_ I had always seen. No one was supposed to see my brother like this. _No one had the right_. I wanted Josh gone; I wanted the whole world gone! It was no wonder my friend was looking at Dean as if was going to break.

Dean really looked terrible. I shouldn't have left him alone, and I knew it. He hadn't slept in a week, had barely eaten at all -and if the deliberately slow sips of water he was taking didn't help his stomach settle, not even his breakfast was going to stay down- and yet I had left him to wander on his own. What had I been thinking?

Josh eyed me carefully and his grip on my arm tightened gently as he noticed my control slipping. I just kept my eyes down in an attempt to hide from his gaze. Yeah, I wanted him gone. But for a second I experienced the weird certainty that if he let go of me just then, I would break down and that was an additional burden I would not put on Dean. I took a deep breath and repeated to myself that everything was alright. After all, nothing had happened; it had only been a scare. Dean was fine, as fine as he could be. We were okay.

_We're okay..._

Josh stayed by my side and said nothing for a short while. In the meantime, Dean finished the water, and it stayed down. I, in turn, started to breathe easier around the lump in my throat.

"Need a ride home?" Josh asked, giving my arm a friendly squeeze before letting go.

His tone was calm, obliging. Absolutely non-judgmental. I finally dared to tear my eyes from Dean and spare him a glance.

"Nah, it's alright." I shook my head.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I've got the car right here. Thanks, Josh."

Josh nodded, understanding that I needed to be alone with my brother. He probably considered it safe to leave me now, since I wasn't on the verge of falling apart anymore.

"I'll see you around then," he said, smiling and shooting Dean a goodbye look. Then he spoke to me, with a note of seriousness. "Call me if you need anything."

I eyed him as he left before turning to Dean, who had recovered a bit more. He hadn't changed his dejected posture, though. I sighed inwardly, aware of the profound self-consciousness that had come after the shock and could be read in the way he carefully avoided looking up. I took a seat next to him and waited. Simply waited. After having just believed that I had lost him a second ago, I realized I would happily wait forever if he needed me to.

"So..." he rasped after a short while. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him fidget with the plastic bottle he was still holding. "How was school?"

I gave a soft laugh and shook my head.

"It was alright. Second hour was a little boring, though."

"Yeah, right, because the rest of the time's such a party," he teased tentatively.

"Well," I smirked, "the rest of the time is _less_ boring."

Dean chuckled and muttered a soft, "Fair enough" as he finally, _finally_, looked at me with a hint of cautious amusement. I flashed him a quick smile to reassure him that I got it. No fussing, alright.

"What have you been doing anyway?" I asked back.

Taking a deep breath, Dean shrugged and leaned back against the bench. He looked weary, but _present_. And I couldn't be grateful enough for that.

"Been walking around here. This is pretty nice, actually." I arched an eyebrow at him. "And all those chicks, man!" he continued. "No wonder you like college! I hope you've banged at least…"

"Dean!"

"What?" He blinked innocently. "You're my brother, and I've got a reputation..."

"You're unbelievable." I sighed, failing to conceal the smile on my lips.

He grinned.

"That guy..." he started after a beat. I looked at him, uncomprehending, and he waved the bottle slightly.

"Josh?"

Dean shrugged.

"Friend of yours?"

"Yeah..." I answered.

"He seems nice," Dean offered.

I snorted.

"Yeah, he is," I said. Then, almost as an afterthought, I added, "You would like him."

Dean looked at me with a hint of curiosity, but I didn't elaborate, thinking instead of how I had said those same words to Josh and smiling at the memory.

"Let's go," I said, standing up. "I'm starving."

Taken aback at my sudden change in demeanor, Dean stared at me for a second before carefully getting to his feet. I just barely managed to keep myself from hovering, but I'm sure he was aware that I was coiled, alert, and ready to catch him the moment he lost his balance.

Dean remained upright but was just a bit unsteady. After breathing deeply a few times, he regained a little of the color he had lost after changing position and rolled his neck.

"Do you want to eat out or do you prefer to go back to the apartment?" I asked him off-handedly.

My brother mulled the options.

"Do you mind if we eat in today?" he finally said, unable to hide his tiredness.

"Of course not," I replied. And then, to keep him from feeling guilty, I added for good measure, "I have an essay to write anyway."

Dean rolled his eyes in a "god, you are such a geek" fashion. I let it go, because he finally looked relaxed as we walked to the car, shoulder to shoulder.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

We ordered Chinese and had lunch while we watched a crappy movie on TV. Dean practically swallowed down a whole pot of coffee by himself, which in my opinion wasn't exactly the best idea. I knew he was nursing a monster headache, and I had seen him fishing some painkillers from his bag earlier.

However, he managed to get some food into himself, whether because he was hungry or in order to please me, I didn't know. But I wasn't going to complain. We talked quite a bit too, about nothing in particular, and we argued and bantered over silly stuff. Part of me knew he was...you know, being Dean, that is, hiding behind a curtain of normalcy, trying to divert my attention from him when he wasn't on top of his game. But somehow, maybe because he was being Dean after all, it felt right. I thought that perhaps he actually needed me to be Sam too, instead of a watchful mother hen. Just Sammy for one afternoon.

During the third crappy movie we managed to find in a row (and seriously, what was wrong with daytime television?) the conversation died down by itself, and we just sat side by side in comfortable silence. I surreptitiously glanced at Dean as he pinched the bridge of his nose, then ran his hand through his head and massaged his scalp discreetly.

"Is it getting worse?" I asked softly.

"Mmm?" he muttered, immediately dropping his hand.

"Your headache."

My brother wet his lips and fixed his gaze on the TV. I mimicked him and pretended to be engrossed in the program as he decided whether or not he was going to give me an answer.

"It's not that bad," he finally said, compromising.

"Pills didn't help?"

Another pause, enough time for Dean to realize that I had seen his weakness and to kick himself for it.

"Not really," he said, shruggingoff my attention. "But you know what they say about headaches…"

I did: that sometimes the only thing that really helped was a full night's sleep. Unfortunately that didn't strike me as a solution in those moments.

"Do you want to lie down for a while?" I offered.

Dean shook his head, which proved to be the wrong move as far as his headache was concerned. Halting the gesture, he forced out a terse "No" around a wince. I grimaced but remained silent. Even if my brother had been able to sleep, he had too much caffeine running through his system to try.

"I did some research about the mara last night," I told him.

Stubbornly trying to fix his eyes on the flickering television screen, Dean nevertheless blinked at my words. I knew he had heard me, and I could only wait for his reaction with bated breath. I had wanted to sound reassuring; I had meant to tell him that I was _doing_ something to help him...

"You did?" he retorted, with his voice completely devoid of emotion.

Unfortunately, the cruel reality was that I hadn't found anything useful during my search. There was nothing that explained my brother's symptoms. But I had every intention of continuing the research for as long as it took.

As if he was reading my thoughts, Dean rolled his head against the back of the couch to look at me. And maybe he was reading my mind because he gave me a somewhat compassionate, defeated look that I recognized too well from many endless discussions in the past.

"I told you, Sam. It's got nothing to do with the mara."

_A deal is a deal, Sam. You can__'t break it._

I clenched my fists over my jean-clad thighs.

"Well, I'm not so sure about that."

_I don't care Dean!_

"Sam, think," he said patiently. "Maras feed on a person's spirit while they sleep. Why in the hell would it want to keep me awake?"

_You gotta accept it, Sam._

"I don't know, Dean. Maybe it cursed you before you wasted it, for revenge or something."

_I'm not giving up._

"Sure, because it's very common for haglocks to cast curses..."

"Well, tell me what the hell is wrong then!" I snapped.

_Not yet._

Dean set his jaw and twitched in his seat. I looked down, ashamed and frustrated at the same time.

"I'll keep looking. There's gotta be something, and I'm gonna find it," I whispered, almost to myself.

_Not ever._

"I know," Dean replied softly. Then he looked at me again. "I know you will."

I swallowed and held his gaze for a long moment. Suddenly, I had the strange certainty that we were evoking the same scene.

"Didn't you say you had an essay to do?" Dean muttered, giving me a soft pat on the knee.

I frowned. Dean had never been too subtle when he wanted to end a conversation, but the essay had been the last thing on my mind. It took me a second to catch up.

"Huh?"

"Isn't it for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but…"

"You should go do it."

I shook my head weakly, ready to fight, but in the last second I shut my mouth at the stern look Dean fixed on me.

"Seriously, man. Go do it."

"I can bring the laptop here, you know."

"It's alright. You don't have to."

"Dean..."

"I mean it. I'm fine. I'll just stay here and finish watching the movie, okay? You do your thing, and we can have dinner later."

This was a classic Dean move, end a moment that was hitting too close to home. It was a way to ask me for some space so he could regroup and at the same time allow me the same consideration.

"Alright," I said, giving in. Glancing at the screen, I added, "You'll tell me who the killer is?"

"Sure," he said, smiling. "I'm betting on the wife."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

I spent almost two hours trying to concentrate, but my efforts were in vain. I really wanted to write the essay -I mean, Dean had practically grounded me into the study, so I might as well write the damn thing. And yet, I couldn't stop my concentration from drifting in one minute but then out the next. My mind was on autopilot, searching for a connection between the sleep spirit my brother had wasted and the situation he was in. Every time some possible explanation popped into my mind, I frantically looked it up and came out empty-handed. On top of that, all my senses were on high alert. I couldn't help but focus on the room my brother was in and drink in every sound I was able to grasp, just like a man in the desert would reach out for water. The last time I had let Dean out of my sight, he almost got hit by a car. Then again, this time was different, right? He was just in the next room. What could possibly happen to him when he was only twenty feet away from me?

The bottom line was that after two hours, I had barely progressed in my work. I had a dozen useless websites open, and my sole focus was on the room next door. Oh, and I was giving myself a headache.

With a sigh, I made the pragmatic decision to close the occultism websites and give the essay a definite push. The sooner I finished it, the sooner I'd allow myself to go check on my brother -and let me tell you, it was taking all I had not to go hover now.

In the living room, Dean had taken to flipping channels on the TV every few seconds, minutes at most. It should have been annoying -it should have been a sign of his mood- but at the time it felt oddly reassuring, because it helped me sense his presence.

Half an hour later, I was almost finished. The channel flipping had stopped a little while ago, and although it wasn't conscious, I was starting to feel my stomach knot. I unconsciously sped up the typing. One final paragraph, and I would be done...

Suddenly, a loud crash came from the other room, and I jumped out of my chair.

"Dean?" I called out.

When he didn't answer immediately, I got up and rushed to the door.

"Dean!"

He wasn't in the living room, and the only sound in the apartment was the brainless buzz of the TV on the channel my brother had left it. My heart sped up an additional notch, and I felt that if it kept up that rhythm my chest would explode. It was then when I smelled coffee coming from the kitchen. I practically bolted to the door, and I was in the kitchen in two strides. Dean was near the counter, crouched down and picking up pieces of glass off the floor.

"Jesus, man!" I yelled at him. "Why the fuck don't you answer when I call you?!"

Dean startled at my angered tone, but he didn't meet my eyes. Instead, he continued picking up the glass. I frowned, and my stomach clenched a little when I noticed the trembling of his hands.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, low and shaky, without looking up.

My uneasiness turned into a heavy lump in my gut, and I swallowed a couple of times to try to loosen it.

"What happened?" I asked.

I crouched to help him with the glass, but when my hand brushed his, he flinched and practically fell backwards.

"Dean?" I asked, confused by his reaction. "Did you cut yourself?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pleadingly.

I took a closer, more attentive look at my brother and noticed that it wasn't only his hands that were trembling. His whole body was shaking as if an electric undercurrent was rushing over him. His voice was unsteady, strained. It sounded pained.

"What…" I started. Then I looked at the glass on the floor and recognized my coffee pot. "Did you make coffee?"

Dean swallowed shakily and didn't answer right away. However, he didn't need to. The state he was in was proof enough.

"How much did you drink?" I questioned him.

He had practically downed a whole pot by himself at lunch, and then a couple of cups during the afternoon, while we were in the living room. An extra pot -Jesus Christ, had he drunk the whole pot?- would have anyone tearing their own skin apart.

"Man, how much did you drink?" I asked again when he still didn't answer.

He raised his eyes and looked into mine. I felt a wave of vertigo, as the hurt, frantic despair of his gaze threw me off balance.

"I'm sorry…"

"Jesus, Dean. Sorry about what?" I cried.

"I didn't…I just w-wanted to think."

His response caught me by surprise and the wheezing edge of his words distracted me from their meaning. I shook my head apologetically, hating the fact that I was going to force him to repeat himself.

"I don't understand," I said, making a strong effort to hold his gaze.

"I wanted…" he tried to explain between tiny gasps. I came closer to him, sweeping aside the broken pot with my foot without giving it a second thought. His eyes remained latched onto mine through the whole movement. "Everything was too confusing, and I needed to think...I couldn't..." he made a vague motion at his head and gestured as if he was switching it off. "'not think', but nothing was clear either...not anymore and I- I'm sorry, I-"

"It's okay."

Noticing that he was barely getting air in between words, I grabbed his wrist to stop his tirade. As before, he flinched, but I held on. His whole body was jerking, so pulling away was an automatic reaction. What I needed was to keep him grounded. Immediately, I felt his pulse racing impossibly fast under my fingertips, and I finally understood what was wrong with him.

"You're tachycardic, bro. You need to try to calm down now."

He managed to scowl at me around a breathless gulp. And okay, I knew that, given the overdose of caffeine he had in him, calming down wouldn't solely depend on his willpower. But getting worked up sure wouldn't help.

"C'mon, let's get you to the living room," I said, helping him up.

He wavered, stiff under my grasp. His breathing grew shallower, his face paler. I steadied him with an arm around his waist and the other across his chest. I didn't intend to be stealthy when I placed my hand over his heart to gauge his frantic heartbeat. Dean reached up and grabbed my wrist, as if he wanted to pull my hand away but then instead chose to hold onto it.

"Now just don't pass out on me. You're too heavy to carry," I joked.

Dean rewarded my attempt with the ghost of a smile, but the strength with which he was grasping my hand and the layer of cold sweat that covered his forehead was telling a very serious story. I tightened my hold wordlessly, bracing myself to support his weight if his knees gave, but he remained on his feet. A few seconds later he loosened his hold on me, and I considered it safe to guide him out of the kitchen.

I had intended to take him to my room and make him comfortable in my bed, but after a couple of steps, Dean batted my hands away. He made his unsteady way to the sofa and leaned against the back of it with his eyes scrunched in pain.

"I'll unfold it for you," I said softly, discarding the idea of forcing him to walk all the way back to the little corridor and then to my room.

"No," he hissed, as he brought his hand to his forehead and pressed the heel of it hard against his brow.

He felt his way around the couch with his free hand as I approached.

"Are you sure?" I asked, watching his rigid movements attentively.

"I can't lie down right now, Sam." He tensed his jaw, as if he was trying to quell the tremor of his voice. "Just give me a minute."

When he finally sank down on the couch with a shaky breath, I sat down next to him and desperately searched for something to do, some way to help. Dean closed his eyes and rested his head back against the cushions. He didn't look the least bit comfortable. On the contrary, I could see the tendons in his neck straining impossibly as he gasped for air.

"Ah, God…" he hissed brokenly, slamming the back of his head against the cushions a couple of times. "Damn..."

_It hurts._

At a loss for words, I placed a hand over his bouncing knee and massaged the tense muscles in an attempt to give some comfort. Dean swallowed and made a visible effort to calm down, but I could feel his pulse under my palm; his system was twitching as the caffeine rushed through his veins like a poison.

"I'll bring you another cushion," I offered, when he arched back with a groan.

"NO!" he exclaimed.

His hand was on mine faster than light. He held on so tightly I almost thought my fingers would break.

"Stay," he pleaded, in a voice that didn't quite sound like his. "Please."

I briefly held his gaze and the reality beneath it sank in just before he averted his eyes.

Dean was scared.

I don't know why my brother's fear came as such an unexpected revelation, why it took me so off guard. Probably because, until then, he had kept a strictly stoic attitude about his condition. Sure, it was wearing him down. He was exhausted, he had been bordering on collapse since I found him, and that was only what I had seen. However, so far he had kept it together and played it down, apparently resigned to what was happening to him. Until now, when his own body was betraying him. He was losing control, and the thought terrified him.

"You're gonna be fine, Dean." I reassured him instinctively, squeezing his leg to let him know that I wasn't going anywhere. "I know you feel awful, but it's just the coffee, man. It'll pass."

Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Dean gave a terse nod. I slid a few inches closer until our sides were brushing against each other.

"It'll pass," I repeated.

Dean glanced at me with an embarrassed shine behind his eyes. He probably hated himself for being "such a girl," but at the same time I knew he needed the reassurance, the company and all the strength he could draw from me. And after all, that was what it was all about, right? Complementing each other and stepping up when the other was down.

"So who was it?" I asked. He frowned, and I nodded at the television which had been on all the time, unnoticed in the background of events. "The killer?"

Dean exhaled forcefully and produced a tight smile.

"The father," he grunted.

"I knew it!" I gave a cheerful laugh. "Because, c'mon, the wife? You need to get past that 'I can read people' line. It's total bullshit."

"It was a crappy TV-movie, Sam," he complained roughly. "What do you want from me?"

"Excuses...ouch!" I exclaimed when he released my hand to give me a back-handed slap on the chest. "Jerk!"

Dean's lips tugged up in the corners, but he didn't answer. Instead, he placed his hand back over mine, his grip just as strong. I found myself smiling too, although the sight of the tense lines and the dark shadows that marred his expression made my smile waver. My brother was in pain and I...I still hadn't found a way to make it alright.

It was Dean's eighth sleepless night, and we spent it watching TV on the couch, waiting for the pain to stop. Waiting for morning to come.

* * *

**TBC in two weeks! I hope you've liked it. Thanks so much for sticking with me!**


	4. Night 9

**Hi everybody and thanks for your patience with this update. I just got back from my vacation (and yeah, I loved NY, of course ;-)) So, I know I've still some reviews to reply, and I promise I will. I hope you like the new installment.**

**Em...thanks, I gotta write you too!!**

* * *

**INSOMNIA**

**Chapter Four. Night 9**

"Josh? Hey, it's Sam. Listen, uh...Are you going to class today?" I asked on the phone, keeping my voice low so I didn't disturb my brother. "No. No, I think I'm going to stay home today. Yeah..."

I risked a glance at Dean through the study door. He was sprawled on the couch and absolutely immobile, as he had been for the last couple of hours since the coffee high had subsided and he had crashed. Hard.

"Nah, he's alright. Yeah...Yeah, man, don't worry. So, really, if you weren't planning to go...You sure? Yeah...Yeah, that would be awesome. Thanks, man. I owe you." I smiled at my friend's retort of _"You don't owe me shit, Sam_." "I'll call you later. Bye."

I hung up and left the cell on the table before going back to the living room. Eyeing my brother gravely, I sat on the edge of the couch and placed a feather-light hand on Dean's thigh. He didn't even stir. His eyes were closed, shielded under one of his arms. The dark circles under his eyes looked almost black against his pale skin. He had stopped shaking long ago, turning from a nervous wreck to a practically dead weight. Unfortunately, sleep hadn't allowed him a most needed break.

"How bad is it?" I asked softly.

Dean sucked in a breath and for a few seconds it was the only sign that he had heard me at all.

"It's peachy," he rasped after a bit.

I couldn't help a little, sad smile and gave his leg a gentle squeeze before promptly removing my hand; I knew his skin was oversensitive after the caffeine rush.

"Do you want to try to eat something?" I ventured.

Dean managed an agonizingly slow shake of his head and went still again.

"Dean..."

"Will you stop treating me like a kid?" he breathed.

I pursed my lips and looked down.

"Maybe it's time to go see a doctor?" I muttered.

Dean frowned and lifted the arm that covered his eyes a couple of inches to glare at me through blood-shot eyes.

"I don't need a doctor, Sam."

"Look at you, man. You look like road kill."

"Thanks," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry." I grimaced at the memory of the previous day. "But I mean it, Dean. You keep saying it's got nothing to be with the mara..."

"That's because it's got nothing to do with the mara."

"... then maybe we should start considering that it's something medical."

Dean sighed and covered his eyes again, trying to block light, sound, and reality.

"I know you hate doctors."

"Sam," my brother warned.

"But maybe a doctor could help," I reasoned.

"And how would a doctor help me, Sam?"

"I don't know. He could give you some pills, for starters."

"I don't want pills!"

"You.Need.To.Rest," I grunted, already getting frustrated. "Dean, you're going to end up seriously sick if you don't."

"I'm resting. As a matter of fact, I'd rest much better if you backed the hell off."

I set my jaw and stood up heatedly. I knew what he was doing; he was feeling cornered and as a result he was lashing out at me. But knowing it, even understanding it, didn't mean that it wasn't annoying. I was going to need a good dose of patience.

"Dean, I..."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. God it was too much. Seeing my brother like that was devastating enough without having to fight him on top of it. I was trying. I was biting my tongue hard so that I wouldn't snap, but he was being childish and if that, 'I don't wanna go to the doctor' act of his went on, I would end up dragging him there by force. Considering the state he was in I'd probably win, but he would never forgive me.

I looked up, already on the verge of despair. I hadn't forgotten his agony of the previous night, the way his muscles twitched as if they were going to break apart. And his heart, how it thrummed through his entire body like a crazed bomb about to explode. All things considered, I had managed to keep pretty calm, because the priority had been to keep him together. But now...

Fuck it. And fuck him, because I wasn't going to lose him to his obstinacy.

"We're going, Dean." I stood brusquely and turned my back on him to try and make up for the tremor in my voice with a tad of attitude. "End of story."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"God, can't you just leave it alone? Leave _me_ alone. Don't you have class or anyth-"

"NO!" I cried. "I'm not leaving you alone, you stubborn ASSHOLE! And I'm sure as hell NOT going to class!!"

Dumbfounded by my explosion, Dean stared at me for a few seconds. Hurt shone in his eyes, but it went away even before I had the chance to blink. That brief pain was enough to deflate my anger, though, just as fast as his anger rose toward me. He opened his mouth, ready to snap, but I beat him to it.

"Please," I muttered, by voice only a whisper. I locked eyes with him, intensely. "Please, Dean, you need help and I... I need to make sure you get it. Is it that hard to understand?" I opened my arms, feeling uncomfortably exposed, but determined to get through to him. "You really expect me to leave it...to leave you alone like this? Last night, man...Fuck, it was bad; you really think I'm going to listen to you and just...what? Go to class? To _class_, Dean? To hell with class, what kind of bastard do you think I am?"

When Dean did nothing but stare at me, I swallowed and shook my head. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sadness, because if he didn't understand what I was trying to say then I didn't have any other way to explain it to him. And if he didn't believe me, well, I couldn't say I hadn't given him reason to think that for me college came first. All I could do was hold his gaze and squirm, because he hadn't even tried to get a word in during my whole tirade. He was simply looking at me with a blank -but oh so not empty- expression that made my insides go cold. It was usually the kind of expression that preceded catastrophe. Last time I had seen it, the Impala had paid the price of my big mouth at Bobby's backyard.

After the longest seconds of my life, Dean sighed and averted his eyes. My breath caught in my throat and began to burn in my chest. And then he spoke.

"This sucks."

"W-what?"

"I get it, Sammy, but it still sucks."

"I know." I nodded, feeling the tiniest hope of relief. "It sucks out loud."

"I can't go to the doctor," he said softly, as if he was ashamed rather than belligerent. Before I could protest, he elaborated. "Right now, I can barely get my head off the pillow. It's like everything weighs a ton. Everything hurts, Sammy."

I nodded. I had guessed that much, but I felt that it was important he was telling me instead of hiding behind the usual curtain of cocky smoke.

"And I don't want you to have to carry me," he concluded sternly. "Can you understand that?"

"I wouldn't mind."

"_I_ would," he retorted.

I blew out a breath and nodded again. He may not believe me, but I got it. The only thing I asked was that he _talked_ to me. As long as he explained to me what was going on, we could find some kind of compromise.

"Okay, I'll tell you what. You try to rest now and get some strength back. We can go to the doctor after lunch."

My brother still didn't like it, of course. That was easy to see, written all over his face like it was. But he was too tired to confront me, and it was the best deal he would get.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

I smiled.

"Okay."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

As soon as Dean felt half-human again, which didn't happen until the afternoon, we headed out to the nearest hospital. "Half-human" being the key words, because the most he had accomplished had been standing up, showering and stumbling to the car to slump down in the passenger's seat without a word. Eating had been out of the question, and as a result he wasn't only sore, but fairly dizzy as well.

However, just as I had promised, I didn't attempt to carry him. Countless times my brother had hunted black dogs, salted and burned spirits and exorcised demons often while sporting broken bones, bleeding gashes and serious concussions. For him, it was a matter of pride to believe he could walk on his own. For me, it was a matter of respect.

Of course, I stayed close enough to catch him if he wavered; pride and respect be dammed, my brother would _not_ fall to the floor. I think he noticed. Although he avoided eye contact with me, he felt me close, and he didn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, I realized that when he was on his feet he kept close to me of his own volition and never strayed too far. He sort of...pivoted around me, as if I was the axis of his balance, and the responsibility humbled me immensely.

He was silent when we got to the waiting room, and not in a calm, comfortable way. Determined to block out the world as effectively as he could, he had begun to close off in the car. Then again, saying that my brother hated hospitals was probably the understatement of the century. We were used to visiting them and knew all the secrets about what corridors to take, what nurses to con or what lies we should feed the doctors in order to get the information we needed. Nevertheless, when it was his health and not a hunt that brought Dean there, his perception of the situation changed radically. Instead of scanning the place, he kept his head low, guarded. Instead of walking the corridors with the confidence due the role he had chosen to slip into, he found a corner to hide in and tried to merge with it. Because, all those people around him? They weren't informants or cards to play anymore. They were the people that would poke and prod him, that would be aware of his pain and weakness and would get to him despite himself.

I sighed and took the initiative of talking with the nurse at the reception desk, and I asked her to find a doctor for my brother, while he fidgeted uncomfortably a few feet from me. I hated that too. I hated that he wouldn't meet my eyes when I was back with him; he felt terrible and on top of that he felt mortified for _looking_ terrible. And the worse part was that I knew there was nothing I could say to comfort him. After all, the only reason he had agreed to go to the hospital was me; he was there because I had half-bullied, half-begged him to go. If it had been up to him, he would have kept pretending he was fine until he died of exhaustion. A shame that that was something I couldn't let happen. I wouldn't let it happen, no matter how much he hated me for it.

And he hated me for it. I wasn't going to apologize, but I still wanted him to forgive me. How senseless was that?

"Mr. Winchester? Dean Winchester?"

The doctor's arrival made me snap out of my thoughts. Dean looked up at him and straightened imperceptibly. At least he wasn't adopting a fighting stance.

Well, so, maybe he was. Just a little.

"I'm Sam, Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean." I shook the doctor's hand, and Dean did the same, giving the dark haired man in his forties a mild smile in greeting.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Morgan," the man replied with a calm smile of his own before focusing on Dean. "So, Dean, they told me you've had a rough week."

Dean swallowed uncomfortably as the doctor studied him and didn't answer right away. For a second, I feared that he wouldn't, that he would just keep stubbornly quiet during the whole exam, like an offended child punishing his parent for dragging him to the doctor. Or a scared one.

But showing fear openly or feeling the need to punish me, that wasn't like Dean.

"I guess you could say so." He answered the doctor with a slightly raspy voice and a light, very light, resigned smile tugging up the corner of his lips.

Dr. Morgan smiled back easily at him, friendly but not too friendly. Professionally concerned and attentive, but not intrusive. Apparently, he had noticed my brother's discomfort and had switched his demeanor to adjust to Dean's mood. I'm sure that throughout his career, my brother wasn't the first patient he had had that hated above all things to be a 'patient' in the first place.

"Alright then, let's see what we can do about that," he announced. "Come with me, please."

I glanced at him, silently asking if I could join them and he flashed a smile to give his permission. As we entered one of the examination rooms, Dean warily eyed the gurney and all the other equipment, but he bit his lip and said nothing.

"Sit down, please," the doctor told Dean and vaguely nodded his head at the gurney as he busied himself by putting on a pair of latex gloves.

My brother obeyed, compliant, without so much as a sigh. Unsure of what to do, I stood near the door. Dean looked so...defeated. Suddenly, I wanted so _badly _to come closer and hold him tight and safe against my chest. The feeling was so strong that for a second I found it hard to breathe. However, I knew that Dean wouldn't want the comfort, now less than ever, and I swallowed down the urge to go to him, along with the tears of frustration that stung my eyes. I had to repeat to myself that I had done the right thing, I was getting him help.

"How long have you had problems sleeping?" Doctor Morgan asked Dean, approaching the gurney and producing a blood pressure cuff from nowhere.

Caught off guard, my brother found the cuff wrapped around his arm before he had time to react. He tensed defensively and instinct made me step forward, but I forced myself to remain a few feet away, because I didn't want to disturb Dr. Morgan.

"A week," Dean muttered.

I arched an eyebrow and glared at him, because it was so not time to downplay the situation. He must have sensed the warning even though he didn't look at me.

_You tell the truth, or I'll do it_.

Dean cleared his throat, glanced at me for a fleeting moment before focusing back on the instrument that was squeezing his arm bloodless and saying, "Maybe a week and a half." He shrugged.

The doctor grunted but made no further comment. Noting the blood pressure measurement, he took some notes on his clipboard.

"Have you ever suffered from sleep disorders before?" he continued his interrogation.

I held my breath, waiting for my brother's answer.

"No," he finally said. "Not like this," he added softly, meeting my eyes.

I held his gaze for a second and then looked down.

"Have you been especially stressed lately?" the doctor asked, pulling a penlight out of his pocket. "Working overtime...that kind of thing?"

Dean flinched back an inch and squinted at the doctor when he shoved the light in his eyes.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," my brother grumbled.

I couldn't help but smile a little at the tight tone of my brother's voice. Dean's patience was very thin when it came to being questioned ̶ even thinner when he wasn't only questioned but prodded at the same time ̶ and it was rapidly wearing out. It still was better seeing him combative, though. I'd take that over dejected any day.

Dr. Morgan turned the light off and looked intensely into my brother's gaze.

"Have you taken anything? Any kind of chemical stimulant these last few days."

"No."

"It's important that you tell the truth, Dean," the doctor insisted. His voice displayed no judgment whatsoever. "I need to know if you want me to figure out what's happening to you."

"He didn't take anything, doctor," I said, backing Dean up with a low and grave tone of voice. "He's clean."

The doctor looked alternatively at Dean and me.

"Fair enough." He nodded.

He stepped back and wrote down something else on the clipboard. I stepped closer to Dean without even thinking. He saw me approaching, without really looking at me, and relaxed marginally. Blinking repeatedly to get rid of the bright spots that were surely dancing in his vision after having been subjected to the penlight, he rolled his head and bit back a grunt of pain. He stretched awkwardly as if his shoulders were stiff and bothering him.

"Is your back hurting?" the doctor asked.

"Just a little sore, that's all," Dean replied.

The doctor came back and muttered a request for permission that Dean didn't get to answer before the older man gently took his wrist and measured his pulse with his watch.

"Any injuries or illness during the last month?" he kept asking in the meantime. "Or have you travelled abroad or come back from a place in a different time zone?"

"Not really."

"Allergies?"

"Nope."

With a new, pensive grunt, the doctor let go of Dean's wrist and made some final notes on his clipboard.

"And when you wake up," Doctor Morgan started, pen still in his hand, "do you feel tired? Restless? In some kind of pain maybe?"

Dean looked at me, and I gave a slight shrug. When we remained silent, the doctor looked up from his notes.

"Dean?"

"I don't really wake up, Doc."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't _go_ to sleep."

Surveying Dean even more attentively than before, the doctor narrowed his eyes. The profound shade of concern that flashed across his features sent my heart rate to the skies.

"At all?" the doctor asked, intently. "Are you telling me that you haven't slept _at all _in the last week and a half?"

Without a clear idea of how I had gotten there, I found myself standing next to Dean's gurney when he nodded. The doctor's sudden switch from professional grunts to baffled questions was scaring me. Hell, it was probably scaring Dean, and I wanted Morgan to shut up and go on at the same time.

"And how," Dr. Morgan frowned, "how?"

"How am I still standing?" Dean asked with a tired smile. "Coffee works miracles."

I snorted. The doctor shook his head.

"Well, that explains your blood pressure." He sighed. "However, I'm not sure that you understand just how serious extreme lack of sleep can be. You should have come to me sooner."

"What is it, doctor?" I asked. "What's happening to him?"

Dr. Morgan sighed as he went through his notes.

"I can't be sure yet. It could be any number of things," he finally said. "I'll have a nurse take a blood sample, and I'd like a CT scan."

"Whoa whoa whoa..." Dean exclaimed, snapping his head up and unable to hide the wince that the movement caused in the tortured muscles of his neck. "A CT scan? Aren't you overreacting, Doc?"

He had paled, and his voice had been shakier than before, although I couldn't be sure if the doctor had noticed. The truth was that Dean wasn't very happy about small, closed spaces. It wasn't a total phobia, definitely not like his fear of flying, and it had never kept him from doing the job. Still, they made him nervous, unbalanced, which unfortunately was the last thing my brother needed right now.

"Is that really necessary? Can't you just give him some pills or something?" I asked, stepping in, gravely. Menacing, despite myself.

The doctor shared a knowing glance with me. Maybe he had noticed my brother's discomfort after all.

"I don't think it's a good idea to administer any kind of sedative without discarding neurological problems," he explained with a hint of sympathy in his tone. "Is that a problem?"

Dean's eyes hardened in response to Doctor Morgan's sudden compassion and the real question behind his words: _Are you scared, boy? _

"No, no problem," he said between clenched teeth.

"Alright then," the doctor said, scribbling over the clipboard. "I'm also going to give you a muscle relaxant. It will be a bit stronger than the kind you'd usually find in a drug store, but it's not a sedative and since you're staying here for a while for the tests, we can give it time to kick in under our supervision. It won't knock you out, but it should help alleviate some of the pain."

"What? No!" Dean refused. "It's not _that_ bad."

But it was. And while the doctor was probably seeing the opportunity to kill two birds with the same stone -that is, loosening the tension of my brother's seized muscles and having him relatively calm and pliant for the CT scan- my brother was only seeing himself vulnerable and trapped inside a tube with no control over his own body.

"Believe it or not, your body needs the rest, son."

"I rest," Dean growled. "I haven't done anything but rest for the last few days!"

"Not for real. Not without any sleep," Morgan answered. "Real deep sleep is like a switch that disconnects the brain from the rest of the body, so that, for example, even if you dream of running, your legs won't start moving. If you don't sleep, even if you do rest, your muscles don't get to disconnect completely for any time."

Dean looked away, frowning.

"And what if I don't? Take it, I mean," he rasped.

The doctor sighed.

"There's only so much a body can take, Dean. Even a young, fit body like yours. If you don't let us help you, your legs are simply going to give way under you sooner or later. And judging by the condition you're in, I'd only give it a few hours before it happens. A day tops."

Jaw working and fists clenched, Dean swallowed hard and kept his eyes fixed on the wall. I remained silent, at a loss about what to do. If my brother hadn't hated me before, he sure as hell had to hate me now for forcing on him the impossible decision of either admitting his pain—and as a result being drugged and rendered helpless— or denying it and then waiting for the unavoidable collapse. I could see him torn between the two evils, and I had the feeling that having me there as a witness was only adding insult to injury.

He needed the meds, and he needed the scan. I prayed silently for him to give in, to just accept the help. Because if he didn't... God, I just didn't have the strength to make him do it at that point, just like he didn't have the strength to joke his way around his discomfort or to laugh his fear away. It was his decision, and if he asked me to I would take him home in a heartbeat.

Only that by allowing him escape we'd only be back to square one. We had no answers; we had no way to fix the problem. Or rather, _I _had no way to fix it, and because of my uselessness my only other alternative was to wait for Dean to crumble. That image turned the heavy weight in my stomach into a painful lump that lodged in my throat. My brother _didn't_ crumble.

I looked at Dean, pleadingly, which was unfair because I _knew _that in a way I was making the decision for him...again. But I was driven by survival -my brother's survival- and, really, there was nothing else to say.

Dean breathed out the air he had been holding, looked down and pursed his lips in defeat all without looking at me. But he didn't need to look at me for me to understand a capitulation he wouldn't voice. He _couldn't_ voice.

"He'll take it," I said evenly.

Dr. Morgan eyed me when I spoke and then glanced hesitantly at his patient, whose consent he needed. When Dean didn't object, the doctor seemed to understand that it was my brother's way of giving him his permission.

"Alright, a nurse will be here soon to take your blood and administer the muscle relaxant. I'll get the CT scan ready and get back to you," he explained. "In the meantime, there're some hospital gowns in the closet," he added, patting a metal closet in the corner. "Please get changed into one. Do you need help?"

"No, I got it," Dean grunted.

Dr. Morgan nodded and smiled his goodbyes.

"See you in a bit."

He left us alone in the examination room. For a minute, neither of us moved or said a word. Finally, Dean stood with a barely concealed grimace and retrieved a gown.

"Need help?" I offered, reaching out for the gown.

"I said I got it," Dean growled, batting my hand away.

I flinched a little at his harshness and stepped back, feeling the distinct sting of tears behind my eyes. With a deep, even breath intended to alleviate the tightness in my chest, I walked to the wall and leaned against it. In that way, I allowed some obviously needed distance between the two of us. Considering that in a few minutes modern medicine was going to take his pride away, the least I could do now was respect his need for independence, even if it was painful to watch him struggle his way into the cloth.

A nurse came in barely a minute after Dean had finished changing. She glanced at me –I had once again retreated to a space near the door- and then to her patient, smiling at the two of us.

"Good afternoon." she greeted warmly, as she walked directly to the bed where my brother was sitting. "How are we doing, Mr. Winchester?"

"_We're_ doing terrific, thank you," Dean answered without hiding the sarcasm.

I straightened up, gauging the need to intervene. My brother had every right to lash out at me if he wanted, but none of this was the nurse's fault. However, the woman didn't even flinch and continued preparing the tubes and needles she was going to need as she spoke.

"Fair enough, you're not in a good mood," she said, "but well, I wouldn't be in a good mood either, so that's alright. This will only take a minute. Can you lie down for me?"

Dean laughed at the nurse's words and surprised me by complying with a low, "Sure." The woman wrapped a rubber band around my brother's arm and asked him to make a fist. Sparing a glance at her patient's face, she placed the needle against the soft skin of the inner side of his elbow.

"I see you're not afraid of needles," she commented.

Dean forced a tight smile in response and kept his eyes fixed on the nurse's actions. I knew that he wouldn't look away, and it had nothing to do with whether or not he was afraid. It was about knowing exactly when the needle was going to go in. Looking away and just waiting blindly to feel the needle prick had always made Dean more nervous.

When the nurse finished she pressed gauze over the little red point the needle had left and made Dean hold it as she closed the tube with his blood and eyed my brother's file.

"Alright," she said. "I see Dr. Morgan has also prescribed a muscle relaxant. I'll put you on an IV so that it will go in easier. With this dosage it won't take long to take effect."

Noticing my brother's expression change from mildly pissed to plainly wary, I abandoned my corner at that point. The nurse sensed me coming closer and shot me a reassuring glance before she finished hooking my brother to an IV and hung a little bottle from its post.

"It should start to kick in a few minutes" she explained, although it elicited no reaction from Dean, who was now tense. "Will you stay with him?"

I didn't expect her to talk to me, and it took a second for me to tear my eyes from my distressed sibling, process the question, and nod. My throat was dry, and I didn't feel able to talk.

"He might feel a little woozy, especially at first. But it's alright, it's just the medication," she said, reassuringly. I nodded again. "Someone will come to take him to the scan later. And you..." she said, looking down at Dean and patting his shoulder gently, probably noticing his rapid breathing. "Just try to relax, Mr. Winchester. That's kinda the whole point of it."

The nurse exited the room and left us in awkward silence. Dean was still glaring at the offensive crystal bottle, which for the moment was doing anything but relaxing him. I sat down next to the bed and cleared my throat, not really to draw my brother's attention but rather to get it to work again.

"They're nice," I commented into the void. To test my voice, maybe, or to fill in the silence. Perhaps to check if my brother was still in there.

Dean shrugged.

_Well, that was inconclusive._

Not knowing what else to say I just sat there, absently looking around the examination room to avoid staring at Dean. My mind wandered without my supervision, and I found myself thinking about the CT scan. When the doctor had mentioned it, Dean's reaction had kept me from dwelling too deeply on it. But now I was starting to realize what it really meant. They wanted to scan my brother's head; did they think that something might be wrong? Jesus, what if they _found _something?

I couldn't have that, couldn't even go there. My brother had to be alright.

"Huh..."

A soft, faint groan led my eyes back to Dean. He fidgeted on the bed, but his movements where slow and sluggish. A glance at the crystal bottle told me that a quarter of the medication had already gone down. I looked at my brother's face again and took in the glazed shade of discomfort behind his heavy lids.

"Everything alright, man?" I asked him.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and tried to roll his neck and shoulders.

"Weird," he muttered.

I grimaced in sympathy although his eyes were still closed and he couldn't see me. Then I felt a light tug on my wrist, and I looked down to find that he had gripped the loose fabric of my shirtsleeve.

I didn't try to hold his hand; he wasn't seeking mine. He was...it's hard to explain, but I think he was doing the same thing he did when he didn't tear his eyes from the needle about to pierce his skin; seizing the exact moment when the drugs would restrain him from keeping a grip on the shirt -on reality- because knowing was like having a little bit of control.

He opened his eyes half-mast and fixed his miserable gaze on the dripping bottle. Something in the way he moved was gradually changing, as if he was set in slow motion. A new groan left his lips, almost a whimper, and the grip of his fingers intensified a notch. But it was a weak grasp by then. Too weak. The realization made my brother's eyes shine with frustrated tears that we both knew he wouldn't allow himself to shed.

"Take it easy, man," I spoke. "You're alright."

It was all I could do not to start crying too.

"It'll be alright."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The return of the doctor, followed by a couple of orderlies, took us by surprise. When the door opened all of a sudden, my reaction was to stand up. My brother's eyes snapped open and, unable to grasp my sleeve anymore, his hand slipped and fell limply on the bed with a helpless thud. He let out a gasp, and I turned to him to notice the frantic shade of alarm in his gaze. Without thinking, I clasped his hand in an attempt to convey that I was still there, between him and anything, even if his muscles had betrayed him.

"Well, Dean, everything's set, so we'll be taking you to the scan now." The voice of Dr. Morgan reached me from the door.

I ignored the other men in the room and focused on my brother, who had closed his eyes again and was now trying to control his breathing after being startled. He made no move for me to let go of his hand -and well, it wasn't as if he could have made any, which was an important part of the problem- but he didn't send any other kind of sign that he wanted me to, so I guessed he was okay with it.

It all happened in nothing but a few seconds. I sensed Dr. Morgan approaching the foot of the bed, and Dean cracked his eyes open. It was my cue to let go of him, since holding hands might be unlikely in a normal situation, but in front of someone else was totally unthinkable. I let my hand rest next to his, though, not touching but close enough to brush if we moved.

"Everything okay, boys?" the doctor asked kindly, aware of how close we were.

"Yeah, everything's fine," I replied.

Dr. Morgan checked the IV, closed the vial and took off the bottle holding the muscle relaxant.

"It's empty," he said, unnecessarily. Then, looking at Dean, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Kinda switched off," Dean grumbled. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

The older man's lips curved up with a hint of amused apology.

"You ready?"

"As ready as I'm gonna be, Doc."

The doctor looked at the orderlies and nodded. They came to the gurney and started to prepare it to be pushed down the corridors. Dean's face closed up and his eyes remained fixed ahead. The doctor then looked at me.

"The CT scan shouldn't take more than 30 minutes, and I've arranged for your brother to be moved into a room upstairs for the evening. The two of you will be more comfortable there."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"There's still some paperwork that needs to be done, though," he explained. "I suggest you use this time to finish it. We'll be taking Dean directly to the room after the scan. The nurses will tell you where to go."

"Uh, okay..." I had to agree, as they started pushing the gurney past me. My hand latched onto the metal railings unconsciously. "Can I walk with him to the scan first?"

My voiced had sounded a bit rough, but I hadn't been able to control the tremble. As a matter of fact, I wasn't sure where those words had come from. Dr. Morgan studied me for a few seconds and then glanced at Dean, whose expression was still carefully blank. Then the older man's features softened with understanding.

"Sure. Let's go."

The scanning room was in the basement, barely five minutes from the emergency bay; we were all silent the entire way there. I trod next to the gurney, my hand loosely tangled in the railing as before. Dean was looking ahead, lips pursed, and since he was lying down, I couldn't quite make out his gaze from my position. But I knew that he would still be in fight or flight mode, or as much as the drugs allowed him to be.

_Say the word, Dean._

My determination was doing all kind of loops. One moment, propelled by the necessity of my brother's well-being, it was soaring high. But in the next moment, it was sinking low under the weight of my brother's fear. One word from him, and we would leave. Okay, I could have thought of that before, but to be fair he hadn't really said "_No"_. Not so far. He had bargained, squirmed and bitched about the attention. He had hated it and been reluctant and wary about it. But I had pleaded. And, yeah, I might have liked to believe that it was me expressing my opinion that had brought Dean to this place, but there was no hiding the truth. And that truth was that it was the pleading, _my _pleading that had persuaded Dean to come to the hospital.

He was doing this for me, yet he was doing it voluntarily, if that makes any sense. At least that was what I wanted to believe. But the second he raised his eyes and simply said _no_, I would listen to him. And Dean knew that. Didn't he?

Still, saying no would be a sign of weakness, and my brother had made a way of life out of never letting me down, no matter what. It was nice, but utterly self-destructive. Completely Dean. We'd argued about it so many times without getting anywhere that I had long ago given up and, instead of _you don't have to_,my answer had become _right back at you_.

I was curious to see what would win in the end; his big brother act of nothing really scares me or his instinct for survival that screamed _get me out of here now. _I was sure the former would always beat the latter, and that certainty made me proud and also a bit sad.

Anyway I intended to give him the chance to reject the scan until the last moment, and so I kept close to catch any sign from him. And then he was wheeled inside the CT room, and I was kept from following him. The moment the doors closed on me, it felt like there was a ball of lead rolling over my chest.

Dean hadn't looked at me the whole time. And it felt like...it felt like...

Very much like being ripped apart.

Wanting to go back to Dean as soon as possible, I filled in the due paperwork in record time. I knew that the doctor had told me to wait in the room, but I wanted to be at the door when my brother got out of the scan. I think it was the longest half hour of my life. And after an eternity, the light flickering over the door frame was turned off, an indication that Dean's scan was finished.

I straightened up against the wall I had been leaning on and braced myself. Suddenly the door opened, and I jumped a little. An orderly's back was the first thing that emerged, as he backtracked pulling the gurney. The second orderly, who was pushing the foot of the bed, noticed me and flashed me a reassuring smile that I barely noticed.

"Dean," I whispered.

My brother was paler than before and a thin layer of sweat made his forehead shine. Other than that, there was nothing in his expression to give away his distress. For anyone else, he looked like he was simply tired, but to me...

I knew he had freaked out in there. Silently and unnoticed by everyone, just as he was used to doing everything else.

My hand moved automatically and closed around his shoulder. Realizing I was there, he glanced at me and let out a breath. I gulped, desperately searching something to say to make it better.

"It's over now," I said in a soft voice, so that it reached his ears only.

He kept my eyes for a second longer and wet his lips, but other than that he gave no sign that my words had sunk in. After a beat he simply turned his head on the pillow to avert his gaze. And I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood.

The way to my brother's room, which was on the second floor, was made in silence. When we got there, I was relieved to discover it was a private room. I think both Dean and I wouldn't have been able to stand the company of another outsider. Tolerating the medical staff was difficult enough.

While Dean was being settled, a nurse came in to inform us that the doctor would come to talk to us as soon as the test results came back. She asked us if we needed anything; I refused for both of us and thanked her and the orderlies for everything when they exited the room. Alone with Dean again, the silence became heavy and uncomfortable. I paced the room for a minute and finally sank into a chair next to the bed. But I soon found myself fidgeting again. My brother's stillness was getting to me.

"Dean?" I called out. My voice sounded weak, unsure despite myself. "C'mon, man, talk to me."

Dean sighed.

"I'm fine, Sam," he said flatly. "It was just a stupid scan."

I snorted. Yeah, right.

"So how was it?"

Dean took a few seconds to reply.

"Awful," he said bluntly.

Taken aback by the sudden honesty of his words, I looked at him. But when Dean returned my gaze, I looked away ruefully.

"Don't," he said.

"D-Don't what?" I stuttered.

"Don't do this...whatever you're doing," he elaborated.

Unsure of what to say in my defense, I settled for gluing my eyes to the floor.

"Sam," he said tersely. "I'm not mad at you, okay? If that's what you're brooding over, you can stop it."

I studied his expression warily, still unconvinced. In my book, he had every reason to be pissed at me, and even as he was telling me he wasn't, the flippant harshness of his voice said otherwise.

Then, as if he was reading my mind, he took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He met my eyes squarely and forced himself to relax for me.

"I'm not mad at you," he repeated, softer this time. "Really, I'm not. It's just that all this...it..." he trailed off.

"Sucks," I provided solemnly.

His lips curved in a hint of a smile.

"Out loud," he completed.

I chuckled, shaking my head, and it was my turn to take a deep breath. My chest didn't feel so tight anymore.

"So, drug's wearing off already?" I asked, since I had gotten to a point where I hated the damn substance as much as he did.

"Nah, not really. Not yet."

I gave him a sympathetic smile. When I looked at his hand, my smile widened.

"So I guess it's not the best time to challenge you to an arm wrestling match, huh?" I dared, maliciously, as I took his limp hand in mine and waved both in the air.

Dean laughed briefly.

"Only way you'd be able to beat me, Sammy boy," he shot back. "Now let go of my hand, already, you freak."

I snorted and obeyed, letting go of his hand on the mattress after giving it a soft squeeze.

"Try to get some rest."

"Whatever."

"I mean it, Dean. Don't sleep if you can't, but close your eyes and just...I dunno, switch off your brain or something."

"Smartass," he bit back without heat.

He made another attempt at squirming and huffed in frustration, but he eventually closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, trusting that I was there on watch.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The doctor showed up a couple of hours later, with a big paper envelope and new reports on his clipboard. I turned off the television that had been quietly humming and stood up to greet him. Dean opened his eyes immediately and, although weary, they were clear and focused when they fixed on the older man. The drug had started to wear off a while ago. At first, Dean had become restless; he said he was tingly all over and had begun tossing and turning. However, he wouldn't let me get a nurse and after a while he had settled down. Now, with the doctor's arrival he was absolutely alert.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the doctor greeted. "How are you doing Dean?"

"Super," he answered, as he sat up.

"I see we've got you up and moving already."

"He was a bit agitated earlier," I said, ignoring my brother's scowl.

"That's a pretty common side-effect of the drugs," the doctor said in an effort to reassure us. "How's the pain?" he then asked, reaching for my brother's shoulders and neck.

Dean shrank back, but that didn't deter Dr. Morgan from testing his muscles with gentle squeezes.

"I _was_ much better," Dean said on a hissed exhale.

"You're still a little stiff, but not seized," Morgan muttered. "Maybe you should have a massage done." Then he glanced at me. "Sam? Do you want to try?

The glare that Dean shot at me was almost comical. Sure, Doctor Morgan had noticed how close my brother and I were and he must have assumed Dean would be more comfortable if it was me touching him, instead of a stranger. And okay, it was kind of true, but still….

I stepped back, hands raised, with an amused glint in my eyes.

"No, thank you. I think I'll pass." I smiled. "I do appreciate my life."

The doctor withdrew his hands with a soft laugh.

"I see. Not the touchy-feely type."

"Let me put it this way, Doc, do you have long hair, long legs and big bo-?"

"Dean," I warned.

"Then, I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself."

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Dean's smart ass mode was at its highest, which meant he was especially nervous. I couldn't blame him. I was pretty nervous too. The doctor laughed and then cleared his throat.

"Well, Dean, I have your test results," he started, flipping through the report. "Your blood chemistry is fairly unbalanced, but none of the values explains the insomnia. I actually think the unbalance is a consequence of the insomnia and your lack of appetite over the past week or so. There's nothing major, though. The levels will all come back to normal if you take care of yourself."

"What about the scan?" I asked anxiously.

The doctor took a deep breath and leafed through his papers pensively, shaking his head.

"The CT scan…" He paused, and I felt such a sharp pain inside my chest that I thought my heart was doing to explode. "The CT scan is clean," he finished.

I didn't hear myself release the air I had been holding, but I must have. All I knew was that suddenly I was hanging onto my brother's bed and my vision was swimming.

"So he's alright?" I croaked, giddy with relief.

"Of course I'm alright," Dean's voice reached me from the left, his tone resolute, but also gentle in a way only my brother could manage. "I told you I was."

I searched his gaze and found his eyes clear, steadying. He had surely noticed I was about to fall to the floor.

_I'm alright, Sammy. S__ee? I'm alright._

"You don't appear to have any pressing physical issues. That's a fact," the doctor confirmed, unaware of the silent dialogue that was taking place between us. "But that doesn't explain why you're not sleeping."

I held Dean's eyes for a second longer before looking back at the doctor.

"Well, but you can give him something now, right?"

"Yes, but that's not what I meant," the doctor said, softly drumming his pen on his clipboard.

"Then what do you mean?" my brother snapped, somewhat tired of the situation.

"I mean that there must be a reason why you're suffering from this, and if it's not physical it must be psychological."

I heard Dean snort by my side, and I couldn't help a sad smile from coming to my lips. It made sense that the doctor had reached such a conclusion. If Dean's condition wasn't caused by one thing, it had to be the other, right? Unfortunately, Dean and I both knew that things weren't always so simple.

"You trying to say I'm nuts, Doc?" Dean asked in a forced light tone.

"No, I'm trying to say that you need help. I strongly suggest that you go see a specialist. Here," he said and produced a card. "This is the contact information for a colleague of mine, a very good psychologist. I took the liberty of calling her, and she told me she can see you tomorrow in the afternoon, if you want."

"No way," Dean growled.

"Dean," I muttered. "He's just saying that…"

"I know what he's saying, and I'm not going to a shrink, Sam!"

I shut my mouth with an audible click and looked away.

"Son," the doctor started reasonably.

"I'm _not_ your son," Dean snapped, pinning the man with a cold glare.

"Dean, enough!" I growled, my own eyes steely and my voice firm, trying to keep things under control. Dean glared at me, but I had already switched my focus onto the doctor. "Can you give him something or not?"

Dr. Morgan stepped back, lips pursed. I felt sorry for him, but there were a lot of things that he didn't understand, and one of them was my brother. I hated to be rude, but I was tired, Dean was edgy, and I really needed to get us out of there.

"I'm going to prescribe some pills for you, Mr. Winchester," he said evenly, "But you need to understand that they're not the answer. You need to eat, and you need to get to sleep by yourself. Pills are superficial fixes, but if you don't fight the real problem it won't go away."

"We understand, doctor," I assured him, taking the prescription, and after a split second of hesitation, taking the psychologist's card as well. "Thanks."

Dr. Morgan smiled mildly at me.

"Don't thank me. It's my job."

"Can we go now?" Dean asked behind me.

I knew he hadn't liked that I had taken the card. I knew he wasn't sure whether it was to appease the doctor and get him off our backs or to actually force him to go see the psychologist, which would most probably lead to a fight. And honestly, I wasn't sure either.

"Let me bring you the papers to sign, and you're free to go." Morgan glanced at my sulky brother, and added, "Please, think over what I've told you. And take it easy. Nobody's invincible."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

We arrived at the apartment by dark. Dean had been discharged shortly after our conversation with the doctor, and we had made a detour to the drugstore to pick up the prescribed pills. On the way back, we went to a drive through and got ourselves dinner. Dean had spent the first half of the way grumbling about hospitals, meds, and doctors who meddled in their patient's businesses. But the second half of the trip was spent in silence, and since my brother wasn't prone to brooding, I could only guess that he was tired after what had been a very long day.

_A very long week, actually__._

He sank down on the couch the moment it was within reach and let out a weary groan as he rotated his shoulders and ran a hand over his face.

"You sure you don't want a massage?" I said, only half joking, as I kicked the door closed and left the food on the table.

"Bite me," Dean grunted.

"You don't want me to rub your back, but it's okay if I bite you?" I snorted, "You've got a twisted mind, dude."

"Shut up," Dean retorted with a grudging laugh.

I smiled and cuffed him on the back of his neck when I passed behind him. Then before I was out of his range, he shoved at me with unexpected speed, and caught off guard, I stumbled. It elicited a low chuckle from him.

"Getting rusty there, Sammy."

I glared at him half-heartedly as I sat down and opened the bags from the drive-through. I handed a burger to Dean with an unspoken "Eat," then retrieved the bag from the drugstore and took out the bottle of pills. Dean watched me warily, but said nothing, choosing to pick at his hamburger instead.

"I'm going to look this medicine up on the Internet," I told him.

"Your food will get cold."

"My food is a salad, Dean." I said, rolling my eyes. "Be right back."

I felt his gaze following me as I disappeared into my room. Once beyond his visual capabilities—even Dean couldn't see through walls— I turned on the laptop and typed the name of the drug into the search box. Probably Dean would think I was a real geek, but I wanted to know exactly what I was practically shoving down my brother's throat.

"So, will I live, doctor?"

His voice at the doorway startled me. Dean was leaning on the door frame, arms crossed and a tired smile gracing his features as he watched me.

"You're really convinced that you're funny, right?" I replied flatly.

Dean chuckled and came closer. He snatched the bottle of pills from the table and turned it in his hand absently. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Uh huh..."

"Dean, you shouldn't take those on an empty stomach."

"God, who died and made you Mother Hen?" he grumbled under his breath.

It was my turn to chuckle.

"If someone made me a mother hen, then what'd they make you? My...chick?"

Dean stared blankly at me for a long moment, not even blinking. After a while, he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Something is not right inside your head, dude. I'm telling you. _You_ should go see a shrink."

My good spirits about the bantering moment sank after my brother's snarky reference. Noticing it, Dean sighed and turned away from me to go to the bed. He sat on the bed's edge with his body bent forward and the bottle of pills in his hand. I watched him through the reflection of the computer screen and was struck by the air of dejection he had about him.

"You can leave the research, Dr. House." he said without looking up. "This won't kill me. It just won't help much."

With a sigh of my own, I tore my eyes from the computer and turned in the chair to face him.

"You don't know that," I countered.

"Yeah, I do," he insisted. And at my uncomprehending silence, he elaborated. "I've already tried these."

"What? When?" I said, honestly surprised at the revelation.

"The day I called you," he admitted sheepishly. "I took a couple, but they didn't put me to sleep. They just made me feel...you know..." He made a vague, loopy gesture with his hand, and grimaced. "It was a bit..." he gave a light shrug. "It wasn't pleasant," he finished ruefully.

I remained quiet as I tried to absorb the new information, although I was having trouble concentrating when my brother looked so absolutely miserable just a few inches from me. Anyway, what he said made sense. When I had gone to collect my brother at the hotel, I had noticed that he seemed drugged; I just hadn't given it too much thought. I remembered how disoriented, how _confused _he had sounded on the phone.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked meekly.

My brother shrugged again, without tearing his eyes from his hands.

"Well, that was days ago, man. Maybe they'll work now," I said, encouragingly.

Dean sighed.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Maybe."

"Dean..." I started, without really knowing what I was going to say.

However, before I had time to make up my mind, before _You'll be alright_, _You don't have to do this,_ or _I'll make damn sure you get through this_ came out of my mouth, he twisted the bottle open and dry swallowed two pills.

"You don't-" I rasped, suddenly wanting to get to my feet and drag him to the toilet to make him throw up the offending medication. Dean had had enough drugs for one day. But realizing the futility of my wish, I relented and asked, "Do you need water?"

He shook his head and extended the bottle towards me. I reacted at once, got up and took it from him.

"You should go lay down," I said calmly. "I'll get your bed ready."

"Could I…" he started, stalling my departure. "Do you mind if I stay here?"

Eyebrows arched, I turned to look at him.

"Of course!" I exclaimed. "God, Dean I'm an idiot, of course you can have this bed..."

"No, that's not…" he shook his head and made a sheepish grimace "I mean..."

_With you._

I frowned, absolutely taken aback in every possible sense by my brother's sudden vulnerability; his neediness was displayed right in front of my eyes.

"Oh."

Clearly wishing to be swallowed by the carpet, Dean glued his eyes to the ground. I felt really bad, but "Oh" had honestly been the only sound I had been able to utter. Suddenly it all made sense; why he had called me, why he hadn't told me about the pills before, why he was fidgeting now. My brother was frightened and ashamed of a weakness he didn't know how to deal with. Not alone.

He shouldn't have to. He wouldn't. And I wasn't going to let him feel embarrassed for that.

"Sure, man," I finally said, carefully erasing all uninvited softness from my voice to favor simple casualness. "I'll go get my salad."

The time that took me to go back to the living room and retrieve my food was a few needed seconds of space to pull in a breath and steady my emotions. I would be of no use to Dean if I allowed my feelings to get in the way. Besides, none of this was about me. It was about him. He had to be really wiped out, both physically and emotionally, if he had allowed himself to reach out for me. But I had no doubt that if I let him see how much his condition was affecting me, he would pull up his walls and try to reassure _me_.

_Not this time, big brother._

When I went back to my room, Dean was supine on top of the covers. He hadn't taken his shoes off and even had one leg dangling over the edge with his foot placed on the floor. He was ready to stand up if he had to. I really wished he didn't feel he may have to, though. Right from the beginning, he hadn't seemed 100 at ease in the apartment, and I didn't know what to do to make him more comfortable. However, I didn't make any comment, because doing so would certainly push my mother hen luck. I grabbed the laptop and sat on the bed, my back against the headboard, with the computer on my lap and the salad box by my hand.

By me, just as close as he could get without actually touching, Dean pulled away the arm he had over his eyes and peeked up at me with a crooked smirk.

"You just can't do only one thing at a time, can you?" he said mockingly.

"It's called evolution, man," I retorted, munching my food and typing one-handed at the same time.

Dean grumbled something that I didn't catch, although I'm pretty sure that part of it sounded like 'geekiness,' and just for that he earned a one-handed-salad-sprinkled shove. We fell silent after that. It was a bit early to turn in, but since Dean wasn't in the mood -or condition- to watch a movie or keep a conversation, I decided to let him be and just check some stuff online before trying to get some rest myself.

I felt when the sleeping pills started to kick in as plainly as if I had swallowed them myself. My brother's eyes, which until then had been alert despite the exhaustion, lost their focus and slipped shut of their own accord. I prayed with all I had in me for the drug to work and for him to fall asleep. But oblivion didn't seem to be the achieved effect. Obviously uncomfortable inside his own body, Dean stirred and blinked his eyes open periodically, took in his surroundings, and stirred again. More than once, a soft groan left his lips even when his eyes were closed. I'm sure he didn't know he was letting those sounds out. And several times, I caught his hazed eyes latch onto me when they opened again. Sometimes it was obvious he wasn't sure where he was, only that I was there with him.

"Am I bothering you?" I asked softly, after hearing a muffled sigh come from him.

He had been staring emptily at the keyboard for a while.

"Mmm?"

"With the typing and all," I clarified.

My brother frowned a little and blinked to try and clear his thoughts enough to understand my question. I didn't press, because even though the drugs were making him react a bit slowly he wasn't totally out of it and just needed a second. I knew that my words had sunk in when his gaze softened, and he gave a soft smile, dopey but still real.

"Dude," he drawled, "we used to sleep in a car roaring down the road at 120 miles per hour. Heck, we could sack out even when Dad turned on the music on top of it."

I let out a chuckle at the memory.

"Yeah...Yeah, we did, didn't we?" I whispered fondly.

Dean's eyes slipped closed again, but his smile remained. Looking at him, I really had to restrain myself from reaching out and running my hand through his hair, as he had sometimes done to me back then when we were just kids huddled together in the back of the Impala, and he was trying to get me to sleep.

"Let's do that," I suggested out of blue, the idea hitting me just as the words slipped past my lips.

I had already turned off the computer and was standing by the time he fixed his heavy eyes on me and forced out a slurred, "What?"

"Come on," I told him, offering my hand.

He obviously didn't understand yet but reached out for my hand regardless out of pure instinctive trust.

It was my brother's ninth sleepless night, and I spent it driving the Impala with no direction to go. My only motive was to swallow the night away while Dean rode out the drug induced haziness in the passenger seat.

* * *


	5. Night 10 Part One

**Hello everybody! I'll be quick:**

**Thanks to all the readers and reviewers, you certainly made easier to week I had to go back to work!**

**Thanks to Gaelicspirit, who is definitely one of the BEST writers here (I'm sure you all know her, but if you don't, make sure you check out her work!) and graciously let me borrow this habit she created for Dean, of tapping the rythm of some song he likes to try and relax.**

**And of course, thanks to Em, whose suggestions have made this chapter much better than it was. All mistakes are mine.**

**I hope you like it!**

* * *

**INSOMNIA**

**Chapter Five. Night 10. Part 1**

"This is stupid, Sam," Dean grumbled, fidgety and clearly uncomfortable in the chair next to mine.

I sighed for the umpteenth time and said nothing. I understood my brother's discomfort. As a matter of fact, I could barely believe I had gotten him as far as the psychiatrist's waiting room without a fight.

"I don't know what the hell we're doing here," he hissed. "I'm telling you, I don't need a damn shrink!"

I felt lousy for ignoring him. It wasn't as if he was a kid, and I was dismissing a tantrum. Well, not this time, childish as my brother could occasionally be. It was rather that I had honest to God no idea what to tell him. I didn't know why following Dr. Morgan's advice was supposed to be a good idea, other than we were running out of options and meeting with the psychiatrist was one of the only ones left. I kept telling myself that my brother knew it also, and edgy as he was, at least he wasn't bolting to the exit. That had to mean something. And if complaining helped him deal with his nerves, I could take it.

"You think I need a shrink? Is that what you think?"

I had to look at him then, had to meet his eyes and drop the act, because I knew how Dean's mind worked. For him, any kind of therapy meant weak and this particular kind meant crazy. I couldn't let him think he was either of those.

"Dean," I countered softly with a shake of my head, then hesitated. He swallowed and looked away. "I don't think you need a shrink, alright? I just think we've got nothing to lose trying one."

My brother snorted, clearly conveying how much of his already compromised pride and dignity was at stake. I looked at him sadly, but I managed an unsteady smile as I slapped his knee.

"Hey, c'mon." I tried to sound encouraging. "If nothing else, she might be able to prescribe you something different or maybe teach you some kind of relaxation technique or…"

"I swear, Sam, the moment she so much as mentions any New Age crap..."

"She's a doctor, Dean," I stressed. "Just think of her like that."

"Yeah, right. Because I sure love doctors," he retorted moodily.

I let out a weak chuckle. I had to admit he had a point. Dean gave a deep sigh and sat back, nervous fingers drumming over his knees.

"So, what's her deal? She shoots a heartfelt look at me, and I start spilling out all the traumatic secrets of my poor and deprived childhood?" he asked caustically. "Doctor? See, I have these deep scars within me. D'ya think that werewolf's claws had something to do with them?"

I laughed, because, well, it was true our childhood had been traumatic by anyone's standards, but surprisingly I hadn't ever really thought of it like that. It had been hard, but what hadn't been even in our lives as adults? Most of the time, I had been simply pissed at the way we had been raised, but not traumatized by it. I looked at my brother fondly, the smile still dancing on my lips. I couldn't remember a single moment of my childhood when Dean hadn't been right beside me. And what can I say? I laughed, because despite all my bitching to the contrary, my brother was damn funny when he wanted to be.

"Please, no, dude," I said, faking horror. "By the end of the session, you'll end up traumatizing _her_!"

Dean smiled tensely, his lips barely curving up in a thin line. But it was a smile nonetheless.

"Well, she'd deserved it for poking her nose into someone else's business."

I gave up with a roll of my eyes. I wasn't planning on defending the situation anymore. I just wanted it to work, or at least be short and painless. Anything so that we could be on our way as soon as possible.

"Mr. Winchester?"

We both looked up at once and the hard earned sliver of a good mood vanished at the sight of the doctor standing by the open door of her office.

"Mr. Winchester, I apologize for making you wait so long," she started, directing her words to Dean after a minute appraisal. "I'm Doctor May. Sandra May."

Dean and I stood awkwardly, and we each took turns shaking her hand. She was young, probably in her early thirties and had piercing blue eyes that lit up her beautiful face. She was also pretty tall and slim and was dressed in a tailored, fitted suit that made her look professional. She also had a noticeable British accent that colored her words nicely. Her voice was husky, grave, but I couldn't make up my mind whether she was trying to sound serious or reassuring.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor May," I said. "I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean." The introductions were unnecessary, but I kind of needed the ritual of polite conversation to steady my nerves. "We appreciate you seeing us on such a short notice."

"Oh, please, call me Sandra. And it's no problem at all. Doctor Morgan is a good friend of mine," she replied. She then turned to Dean, and my brother flinched. "He has advised me about your situation. Shall we go into my office where we'll be more comfortable?"

"Sure." My brother's agreement was resigned.

I brushed a hand across his back and started to follow, but Sandra turned around and said, "Sam, you can wait here. I'll have my assistant bring you coffee or anything you like while you wait."

I halted, effectively pinned by her emotionless voice which, unthreatening as it was, held the unmistakable tone of an order. She was banning me from my brother's side. The second that order sank in, I felt my stomach plummet. It actually did make a lot of sense for Dean to go in alone. If I had had the clarity of mind to give it some thought, I might have suggested it myself. But clarity of mind isn't much good when your brother has been practically keeling over for days, and you've barely been able to catch some rest yourself.

I guess her demands just took me by surprise. The rush of adrenaline that I suddenly felt being released reminded me that my hunter's instincts had been trained to attack whenever something caught me off guard. Hunter's instincts that also told me, "check on your brother and get him away from the threat," but never, never, "Just let him go off on his own while you stay and wait." Those were the instincts that roared in my veins and manifested in my brain as a strong-willed command that sounded suspiciously like one of my father's.

And speaking of him, I still didn't like orders. But okay, being stubborn and getting angry wasn't going to help Dean. If I had to force my protective walls down, so be it. I didn't have to like it, but maybe this doctor was right. Maybe she knew what she was talking about, and Dean would feel more comfortable talking to her if I wasn't in the room as a distraction…

"No way."

The cold, low voice of my brother beat me to it and made both Sandra and me snap out of our split second glaring contest to look at Dean.

"He comes in with me, Doctor," he growled.

There was a look of determination on his face; his eyes more alert and intent than they had been in days. In response, Sandra's widened fractionally and observed my brother just as intently.

"Mr. Winchester, it would be better if you and I talked in private," she reaffirmed evenly.

"I don't think so," he countered.

"Dean…"

"No, Sam."

The doctor frowned, glanced at me and then back at Dean. She was measuring, reading us in a way that made me want to fidget. But maybe she was just surprised by my brother's change of behaviour and I was carried away by some kind of 'shrink paranoia.' It was hard to stay indifferent when Dean was being vehement about something.

"Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked, grabbing his elbow and pulling him with me.

We stepped a few feet away and then he freed his arm from my grasp.

"Happy?" he snarled. "Can we go now?"

"Dean," I said, trying to be reasonable, "c'mon, man, maybe she can help."

"I don't like her."

"She's just doing her job."

"I'm not going in there without you, Sam," he said matter-of-factly. A note of incredulity laced his tone.

That he couldn't envision such a possibility got to me more than he probably thought. But it wasn't the time to be weak. Not if Sandra could do something for him.

"It's alright. She may be right, Dean."

"Come again?" He almost stuttered.

"Maybe it's better this way! I'd be right by the door, and, you know, if I'm not inside…"

"Do you think I would tell her something I wouldn't tell you?" he asked, his disbelief racketing up a few notches.

"You could," I admitted, sheepishly.

_Dammit, Dean. Give me a break._

He was making me feel like I was abandoning him on the side of the road. Of course I wanted to go in with him, and hell if the idea of him trusting another person more than me didn't hurt. But it was true; sometimes it was easier to talk with a stranger. Everybody knew that, right?

"That's bullshit," he retorted. He clenched his fists and exhaled as he let his eyes wander for a few seconds before fixing them on me again with a soulful expression. "Bullshit," he repeated softly.

Without letting me respond, he turned around and walked up to the doctor, who had kept herself politely removed from our conversation.

"He comes in, or neither of us do. It's final, Dr. May," he concluded. And then, after a little resignation replaced animosity, he added, "Sorry."

Her face blank, she remained silent for few seconds before finally allowing her full lips to quirk up marginally.

"Alright, Mr. Winchester. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable."

I could literally feel Dean's relief at her words, as well as his slight awkwardness at their particular wording. Suddenly the idea of waiting outside had lost all sense. He simply needed me to back him up. As soon as Sandra turned around to go into the office, my brother's shoulders sagged. He checked to make sure I was right behind him—where, of course I was—and then followed her into the office. As he entered, he grazed the doorframe with his palm, still reluctant to go in, at least subconsciously. I went in after him, musing about how he had straightened up when he had confronted Sandra. For a minute, all lines of weariness and pain had been replaced by a hunter's glare and a big brother's determination. And I probably hadn't been fully aware of the transformation until the invincibility mask waned, because I was so used to see him stepping over whatever it took to honor those two roles. It was the Dean I knew, the Dean I missed. And even if I hadn't bought into the invincibility card for years, it was the Dean that, for both our sakes, I was determined to get back.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The office was big and well illuminated, cosy but not overly elaborate, quite nice to be fair. Dean eyed the room suspiciously as he walked to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Sandra said nothing, although I thought I saw something akin to an amused smile touching her lips.

"Please, sit down," she instructed, as she took her own seat behind the desk. We obeyed and watched her rearrange a couple of papers before looking at Dean. "So, Mr. Winchester…"

"Call me Dean," he said, tilting his head to the side in a carefree, _you-know-you-want-me gesture_.

I shot a curious glance in his direction. I knew he was bluffing, because he was everything but comfortable there, but he was the best when it came to bluff at beautiful women. I was pretty sure he still didn't like Sandra one bit —despite her undeniable attractiveness—, but flirting with her was a way to have the upper-hand on the situation. _You-know-you-want-me_ was a double faced coin whose reverse was _I'll-be-the-one-calling-the-shots_ and, eventually, a firm _You-won't-get-me_.

"Okay, Dean…", Sandra continued unruffled. She hadn't fallen for my brother's tricks. "Dr. Morgan gave me an overview of your situation, but I'd like you to try and explain it to me yourself," she started.

"I don't know what he told you, but there's nothing much to explain." Dean shrugged. "I can't sleep. That's pretty much it."

"I understand you had some tests done and some medication prescribed."

"The tests came back alright," Dean said quickly, probably recalling the scan and not willing to go through that again.

"And the pills didn't work," I provided softly.

Sandra glanced at me with a slightly arched eyebrow.

"They didn't work?"

"He just told you that, didn't he?" Dean grumbled.

Dean wasn't used to come face to face with women who resisted his charm. And while he wouldn't have particularly minded if an adventurous night had been the only thing at stake, this time he was 'under attack' and it made him particularly short-tempered. The doctor didn't seem to notice my brother's coldness. She just made an undefined sound and seemed pensive for a second.

"Dr. Morgan also told me you aren't on any kind of medication, and that you haven't been taking anything, such as stimulants and the like." She turned her attention back to my brother, and her gaze became gentle. "Is that so?"

Knowing how much it pissed him off to repeat himself, I also looked at Dean. To my surprise, he didn't get belligerent. They just held each other's gaze for a long, quiet moment. Then Dean smiled.

"That's right, Ma'am."

She smiled back.

"Call me Sandra."

Dean nodded and I mentally applauded him. Unfortunately, their little dance would have been funnier to watch if my brother had been really at ease. The fact that he chose that moment to glance at me, instead of seizing the opening Sandra had given him, was evidence enough of his nervousness. I flashed him a quick, reassuring smile. It did something to him, our eye contact. It broke him a little, but it also soothed him deep inside. It laid him bare but kept him safe at the same time. It was what he needed to get through the session, and the reason why I couldn't just wait outside.

"When did the insomnia start, Dean?" Sandra asked.

We kept our eyes locked on each other for a few seconds longer, and then Dean looked back at the doctor before answering flatly.

"Nine...No, ten days ago."

"Did something unusual happen? Did you do anything out of the ordinary?" she asked, watching him closely.

My brother chortled softly and shook his head. I bowed mine, struggling not to snort myself. Because, let's face it, anything out of the ordinary? It was tragically hilarious.

"No, it was a regular day at work," Dean muttered finally. "Same old, same old."

"What do you do?"

"What do I…. Do you mean, what's my job?"

"Exactly."

"I...uh…." He hesitated, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. "I'm a…"

"He's a cop." I intervened before my brother's hesitation became suspicious, or worse, before he came up with something overly imaginative like professional ukulele player or cocktail beta-tester.

I earned Sandra's attention and a surprised -and amused- look from Dean. He had a right to look surprised, I suppose. I mean, a cop? Of all the professions to decide from, I had to choose the one that tried to hunt _us_? But well, I figured that in a way, maybe as hunters we weren't that different from law officers. Besides, Dean couldn't contradict me now.

I just hoped Sandra wouldn't try to go too deep into that. As often as we had impersonated police officers or special agents in the past, pretending for short bursts of time was one thing, but exploring psychological issues while pretending would certainly be more difficult.

"A cop?" Sandra repeated cautiously, sliding her blue eyes from me to Dean. "Is that so?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at Sandra and drawled off-handedly, "I guess you could say so."

Sandra smiled, and I would have sworn it was an honest, caught off guard smile this time. Apparently my brother's charm was still functioning even when he wasn't on top of his game.

"Well, that's indeed a stressful job," she pointed out. "I've treated more than a few police officers with anxiety problems over the years."

"I don't…" Dean jumped in, charm replaced by steely warning. "Look, it's not about the job. I've been doing this all my life, and I've always been fine."

All things considered, I thought, eyeing him with an inward sigh. I was well aware of how far from fine he had been on too many occasions, some of them because of the job. Like those times when we weren't able to save someone or when there were children involved.

Like all the times I got hurt.

"Has anything like this happened to you before?" Sandra asked gently, well aware that my brother was getting defensive.

"No," he said flatly.

I clenched my jaw so hard that it started to ache. Since I was looking at the floor, I didn't realize that Sandra was looking at me until she spoke up.

"Sam? Have you got anything to say?" She prompted softly.

Her eyes found mine immediately after I looked up, so my gaze was effectively trapped before I had the time to pull on any mask. I could feel Dean boring holes into the side of my head. I sucked in a deep steadying breath, ignored my brother, and focused on Sandra intently. I think she was a bit surprised at the sudden hardness of my expression. She probably believed that that particular look was exclusively Dean's. But if she didn't want masks, she wasn't going to get them, at least not from me. Besides there was one thing she needed to understand very clearly.

"He's had problems sleeping before."

She needed to understand that with those words, I had effectively betrayed my brother. And she better make damn sure my betrayal would be of use in fixing Dean, because, if she didn't, I wouldn't forgive her.

"Sam!" Dean practically shouted.

_I'm sorry._

"What kind of problems?" Sandra asked, unflinchingly.

"Sam," Dean growled, this time a warning.

Nails digging hard into my palms, I clenched my fists and still refused to look at him. I bet now he wasn't so happy that he had insisted I go in with him. I didn't want to read that emotion in his eyes; I simply didn't.

"I…uh…" I swallowed. "Last year I had this accident. I almost died..."

"Alright, you know what? Enough!"

Dean's shout was followed by the sudden screechy sound of his chair being pulled. Before Sandra or I had time to react, my brother was up and heading to the door.

"Dean..." Sandra tried.

"I'm out of here." He cut her off, anticipating her request for patience.

"Dean," I called him back, standing up, too.

Hand already on the doorknob, he stopped and turned his face towards me. The hurt was evident there. And that's when I understood it wasn't only a betrayal I had just inflicted on Dean by uncovering his vulnerability in front of a stranger. I had also caused him to relive the pain of memories I had insisted he unbury and the guilt I felt got even worse, because I knew that even though we both had moved on, my brother hadn't completely gotten over my death.

I doubted he ever would.

_I'm so sorry, man. Forgive me?_

"Please," I whispered.

Dean's expression shifted ever so slightly and wavered like a cracking mirror. My heart thumped madly against my ribcage, reverberating in my ears in a dizzying way that muffled every other sound in the room.

And he just kept looking at me with that stubborn and broken expression.

"Sit down, both of you." Sandra's voice chimed in, calm and steady, like thunder in the silence of the room.

My throat felt knotted, and it hurt when I swallowed. I took a shaky breath and held it as I obeyed and stepped back to sit down, my eyes never leaving Dean's. I wasn't able to breathe out again until he moved and returned to his chair.

"So," she spoke again. It was easy to see she was treading carefully now. "Sam, you were saying you had an accident. Can you tell me what happened?"

I sighed and worried my lip for a few seconds. When I spoke again, my voice sounded alien even to my own ears.

"We were working on a job...and I was stabbed. It was pretty touch and go for a while."

"But you made it." She smiled.

I heard the sympathy in her tone, the reassurance, but it didn't really help. I glanced at Dean, who was looking at his hands with a tight, unreadable expression. He had closed himself off and put an end to any chance of an opening. He wouldn't leave, alright, because he wouldn't deny my plea, but he was done playing.

"It's quite common to suffer from insomnia after a traumatic experience such as a family member's accident," she commented naturally, talking to both of us even though her words were aimed at Dean and were intended to ease a bit of his self-conscious discomfort. "Did you try any kind of treatment or medication then?"

Dean had the dignity to look at Sandra when she spoke to him directly, but he still refused to say a word. Silence was his way of proving he wasn't in any shell-shocked, girly state, as he would put it but was present, responsive and plainly pissed.

"It wasn't like that," I supplied. "It wasn't that he couldn't sleep, but that he wouldn't."

Dean huffed quietly, clearly conveying an offended, "Duh, and there, ladies and gentlemen is why bringing this up wasn't FUCKING relevant!" I bit my lip again, nervously.

"Oh," Sandra muttered, in that tone of hers that made you think she was seeing something you couldn't. "And how long did it last?"

"A...huh, a couple of months?" I half asked, turning to my brother in search of confirmation he wouldn't give.

Sandra nodded and unlaced her hands. I found myself wondering if she shouldn't be writing something. Even if I wasn't particularly looking forward to having written records of anything concerning Dean and me, she certainly would have looked more professional if she did. At the very least I would have felt marginally better.

"You said you were on a job. Do you work together?"

I hesitated. The first answer that came to my lips was a fierce yes, absolutely, always. But then, that wasn't exactly true, not anymore, and for some reason it made her question sound like an accusation.

"We used to." I gulped. "Haven't in a while, though."

"Why not?"

Feeling a cold lump bouncing hard in my stomach, I averted my eyes. I opened my mouth, ready to answer, but then closed it again, because my mind had gone blank.

Because all of a sudden I couldn't fucking remember the reason.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Dean asked coldly.

Big brother to the rescue, huh? Absolutely, always, and this time no buts.

Sandra turned her attention to him easily, not looking surprised at all that Dean had intervened.

"Were you there when he was stabbed?"

My brother ground his teeth and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He was looking daggers at Sandra, but underneath...underneath I could imagine the images of that night flashing behind his pupils.

"He got me," I pointed out. "He saved me."

Sandra frowned in interest at the solemn intensity of my voice. Or maybe at its shaky quality. Dean just looked away with a weak shake of his head.

"Dean, why don't you talk to me about the job you were doing last week?" She changed the subject abruptly.

Dean answered without tearing his eyes from a potted plant he had suddenly found very interesting.

"Because that, Doc," he enunciated the title intently, pronouncing it just as if he was saying "sweetheart." Cocky, unreachable, and aggressive, "would be confidential."

"So is this session. Everything we talk about in this office is strictly confidential," she retorted.

Dean took a deep breath, most probably to steady his nerves. I was starting to fear this had been a mistake. Not one of those "damn, it didn't work, what a shame" kind of unfortunate flukes, but a "therapy session ends tragically" very bad idea that might make the front page on the evening news. I had put Dean in a terrible position, because he wouldn't leave until I was satisfied, but he wouldn't let Sandra in either. The most she was going to achieve was crashing against a cement wall in her attempts. And worse would happen, if she pushed too hard.

"I had to watch over some kids," Dean said, shrugging and pinning Sandra with a daring look, even as his own gesture feigned indifference.

"Why?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Because the big bad wolf was trying to take them?" He bit back sarcastically.

She didn't rise to the bait.

"What would have happened if he had succeeded?"

Dean almost snorted. Almost. The staring contest they were having was so charged that static practically crackled in the air.

"Then they would have been hurt," he stated bluntly.

I swallowed. Inside my chest, my heart had clenched.

"Were they? Hurt?" She asked softly.

I looked at Dean, whose expression was the tightest I had ever seen. If it wasn't for the up and down bobbling of his Adam's apple, he could have passed for a statue.

"No, Ma'am, they weren't," he hissed.

For a fleeting second, I felt bad for her. She couldn't know how sensitive Dean was where kids were concerned or how her insinuation that he could have screwed up in a job like that could get to him.

Sandra smiled warmly.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

It wouldn't work. Sympathy, no matter how honestly heartfelt it was, would just set him on edge. I tensed subconsciously, ready to stand.

_Okay, Dean, you win. We're going. Just, please, wait until we're out of here to beat the shit out of me._

"Dean, would you say you are a person that likes to be in control?"

My own laugh caught me off guard, slipping through my lips, sudden and wet. It sounded like a sob really, and maybe it was. Swallowing convulsively, I ducked my head and stared at the floor. Silence ruled for a few seconds, but I couldn't be bothered to break it, since I was too busy keeping my tears at bay. I hadn't noticed how close to crying I was.

"Yeah, well. So I've been told," I heard my brother respond.

Taken aback by the smile I could hear in his voice, the unexpected softness, and lack of animosity, I looked at him. Dean returned my gaze and looked through me as only he could. His anger had faded, and his protective self was back in full force.

_It's alright, Sammy._

I swallowed hard, shaking my head imperceptibly.

_Don't lie to me. It's not._

Dean let out a silent sigh.

_Maybe not. But we are, okay? We're alright._

The pressure in my chest receded, and I started to breathe easier around the lump in my throat. I could live with that; it was all that mattered.

"Dean, I would like to try a little exercise with you, if you agree to it, of course."

I pulled myself together and dragged my attention back to Sandra. After giving me a short once over, Dean did the same.

"What kind of exercise?"

"A relaxation technique. You make yourself comfortable and follow my voice…"

"No way," Dean refused earnestly. "You're not gonna hypnotize me."

"It's not hypnosis," she denied. "Besides, I wouldn't be able to hypnotize you if you didn't want me to. But it might help you to talk, which may help us know what's wrong."

Dean hesitated. He didn't like it. Sandra was basically asking him to let his guard down completely and trust her to navigate him through his own mind.

"I can't..." He shook his head, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "There're things...my job…I can't talk about."

"I'm not going to put you under, Dean. It won't be like that. You won't tell me anything you don't want to." She paused, before adding, "And Sam will be here too. If he knows about your job and knows you're telling something you shouldn't, he can stop the session at any time." Her tone was reassuring.

Dean and I shared a look, and I nodded. That nod wasn't meant to convey that I wanted to force him to go through with the doctor's suggestions, but that I would certainly be there if he decided to try. He understood and mulled it over for a few minutes.

"What do I need to do?" He asked.

Sandra stood and led us through a door into a smaller office with a large chair and a couch. Dean halted his pace at the sight of it and grumbled something under his breath.

"Lie down please," Sandra indicated. "I'll be back in a minute."

She left us alone in the room and in that way effectively stopped my brother's protests before they were fully vocalized. For a second, Dean simply stared at the door, dumbfounded. Then he chuckled uncomfortably and, placing his head in his hands, sat down on the couch.

"You okay?" I asked uselessly.

He nodded without lifting his head, and I came a bit closer so that I could sit on the edge of the chair in front of him. He sensed my approach and raised his tired eyes to meet mine. He looked so small, so vulnerable sitting there with nothing but a shadow of his usual arrogance to put up as a front. I offered him a companionable half smile.

"You should lie down."

Dean sighed, but to my surprise, he complied and stretched out on the couch with a suppressed groan. Immediately, he covered his eyes with his arm again and stilled. I bit my lip. I was concerned that despite his belligerency in the office, my brother's energy was obviously waning with every passing day.

"So what do you think?" he croaked from his position. "Will Sandra chat long enough to bore me to sleep?"

A soft smile passed my lips and, even though he couldn't see it he might have intuited it, because his demeanor relaxed.

"I hope you're not planning on paying her to make me quack or anything like that, because I'm telling you now, dude, it won't work."

I snorted, recognizing the familiar banter for what it was. It was his way of screaming at me, "Please, keep me calm."

I was about to retort when Sandra came back in. We both tensed, and Dean uncovered his eyes to peer at her warily. He even started to sit up, but she gently stopped him with a shake of her head.

"Would you like some music, Dean?" she asked casually, taking a seat in the chair next to the couch. "Some people like that, and I've got a lot of CD's."

Unless you have some Metallica… I thought wryly.

"No," Dean muttered and fidgeted on the couch with his eyes averted.

Pushed aside by Sandra's positioning next to my brother, I shuffled my way to the end of the couch by Dean's legs. I chewed nervously on my lip as I watched my brother squirm under the doctor's gaze. Sandra asked Dean to close his eyes and even out his breath, which elicited a roll of eyes from my brother. He complied, only in part, blinking his eyes open every few seconds, despite Sandra's soft orders to the contrary.

"You think you'd like a pillow?" she tried, obviously mistaking my brother's intermittent stirring.

_It's not that,_ I thought, _he just hates closing his eyes in public. You are public_.

Nobody really knew, but my brother had always been reluctant, not to say unable, to close his eyes or sleep with other people in the room. Other than our dad and me, that is. Even in regards to girls, he hardly ever "stayed the night," and when he did, he normally stayed awake. The need to protect himself was so ingrained that even when exhaustion, injury, or alcohol knocked him out in front of other people, he tended to sleep curled up so that his eyes were covered. So that no one could see him.

I swallowed thickly and almost unconsciously wrapped my fingers around my brother's jean-clad ankle.

_Hey, man._

At once his eyes darted to me, and I gave him a brief smile.

_That's it. Look at me._

He blinked slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. Sandra interrupted his prodding -we had tuned her out for the moment, anyway- and eyed us curiously.

_Close your eyes, Dean._

My brother frowned and looked away evasively, but I gave his leg a soft tug.

_Dean..._

It took a second, but he finally met my eyes again. When he did, there was a clear plea in them.

_Of course I won't leave, you jerk._

I squeezed his ankle again to prove my point and kept his gaze until he believed me. He uttered the expected response with a roll of eyes that made me smile again. Then he let out a deep sigh and allowed his eyes to slip closed.

I looked over at Sandra without letting go of Dean and found that she was looking over at me too, as if asking for permission. I nodded imperceptibly.

"Very well, Dean," she started softly, her voice low in order not to startle him, just high enough to be heard.

It was soothing, her tone. Anyway, I rubbed my thumb in absent circles over my brother's leg, for good measure. Dean's chest raised and lowered rhythmically, seemingly at ease.

"I want you to focus on this room, now," Sandra prompted. "I want you to feel the textures and smells, to sense the sounds. I need you to synchronize yourself with it. Just take your time."

Part of me rolled eyes internally at that, but another part just kept watch over Dean and was surprised to sense him reaching out as instructed. His fingers flexed on the couch as he took increasingly deeper breaths. His shoulders loosened too. I figured getting in tune with the immediate environment was no secret to him. He was a well honed hunter, trained to be aware of his surroundings at all times and to merge with them so as to be invisible if necessary.

I also realized that Sandra's office was very quiet and isolated from the exterior. The sounds of traffic came muffled, like a distant beating. And somewhere there was a sound of water trickling. It took me a little while to realize that the sound came from one of those little zen fountains in the corner.

"Where are you from, Dean?" Sandra asked casually.

Her voice brought me back from my meditative musings to the situation at hand. Surprisingly, though, Dean didn't seem startled and answered without opening his eyes.

"Kansas."

He sounded a bit drowsy but fine. He sounded especially open, honest. He hadn't hesitated in his answer, but then again, it wasn't a compromised question, so far.

"Kansas, huh?" Sandra repeated with a smile as she reached out for a notebook and a pen.

Dean may have sensed her moving, because his breath caught for a split second. Afraid to speak and ruin the doctor's work, I just held on to his leg a bit tighter to keep him from opening his eyes. Dean swallowed and stayed still, working to relax again. A few seconds later he smiled, and it took me a while to decipher why, until I realized that I had unconsciously started to tap the beat of Metallica's "Whiskey in the Jar" on his ankle.

"See, I'm from Nottingham. East Midlands in England," Sandra commented, settling with the notebook and scribbling something on it. "Have you ever heard of Robin Hood?"

"Who hasn't?" Dean muttered. "Cool guy. Except for the tights."

Sandra chuckled.

"Yeah, right. Well, I lived just a little bit over half an hour from Sherwood Forest where Robin Hood and his outlaws hid out. At least according to the legend, of course."

"Most legends hide a part of truth," Dean said with a weary sigh.

Sandra didn't object.

"I used to go there quite often to walk around, to study or simply to unwind after a hard day," she continued. "Most people gathered around the great Oak and the more touristic paths, but I had found this place away from the busiest areas, where I could sit and just be for a while without having to worry about hikers showing up. It was great," she concluded, then fell silent for minute, listening to my brother's breathing. She glanced at the zen fountain in what was probably an unconscious gesture. I noticed then that Dean had fallen into a breathing pattern that followed the soft clicking of a bamboo cane on the fountain as it fell against the rock when the weight of water pulled it down.

I stared nervously at both of them. I sensed that the preliminary part of the session was now over and it was hard to keep cool, knowing that I had to follow another person's lead in something concerning Dean so deeply. Indeed, Sandra sent me a –was that a warning?- look. Dean was tuned in to me even more than he was to the room, and he would only stay calm as long as I kept my own nerves in check.

"Okay, Dean. Now I want you to think of something similar to my private spot in the forest that I told you about," Sandra whispered, focusing entirely on my brother's face. "I want you to look inside yourself and find something. It doesn't matter what. It could be a place, a moment, a thing, or maybe even a person. Something or someone that makes you feel safe. Completely safe," she explained, and then promptly added, "You don't have to tell me what or who it is. It's something personal, yours. You don't have to do anything else about it yet, just find it and don't let it go."

My brother frowned in confusion. He had lived a life where safe must have been pretty much an alien idea, and that saddened me terribly.

"Have you got it?" Sandra asked gently.

I watched in awe as Dean nodded, and his frown relaxed. My heart started to beat faster as it tried to keep up with my emotions. I bit my lip almost to the point of drawing blood.

"Good," she continued. "Now I want you to imagine yourself there, as if you were watching a movie. Just see yourself there, alright? You aren't doing anything. If it's a place, you're just lying there comfortably. If it's somebody, that person's got you and is taking care of everything. There's nowhere else to be, no hurry to do anything at all. It's calm and safe, and for a little while you know everything is just fine."

Sandra waited a bit to let her words sink in. She glanced at me too, as if checking on me, but I didn't acknowledge her attention. I couldn't tear my eyes from Dean, and I was holding my breath.

"Everything is fine," she repeated reassuringly, probably aiming it at both of us. "Can you see it, Dean? Can you picture the scene in your head?"

"Yeah," my brother replied, his voice barely a whisper.

I breathed out, if for nothing else than to avoid passing out in the middle of the office, and forced myself to relax. My tapping on Dean's leg slowed, became lazier. I didn't want to distract him, just to keep the connection.

"Very well. Now I want you to imagine yourself there, in that safe place of yours, feeling tired. It's not unpleasant; it's actually a warm sensation to surrender to. Nothing wrong is going to happen. You're all covered. You start to feel sleepy, and make yourself comfortable, because it's okay to close your eyes..."

Dean's brow furrowed again, and he stirred.

"What's wrong?" Sandra asked.

"I can't sleep," Dean protested, with a frustrated edge in his tone.

"I'm not asking you to. I just want you to imagine yourself falling asleep there, but you'll still be awake here, with us, all the time, do you understand?"

Dean clenched his jaw, unsure. I almost smiled at his petulant pout, but he looked too young and exposed for it to be truly funny.

"Dean?" Sandra pushed. "It's okay. It's your safe place, remember? You can sleep there. Nothing can stop you."

My brother's Adam's apple convulsed. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, so he was still participating in the doctor's session. But something had changed. He wasn't calm anymore, he seemed rather...

"Dean, relax. Focus on this room again for a minute, okay? Deep breaths now," Sandra directed.

"Sam?"

I squeezed his ankle.

_Right here, man._

He seemed afraid. But afraid of what?

Sandra gave him a few minutes to calm down again while she wrote some more notes on her clipboard. I would have killed to know what she was writing and made a mental note to find out later.

"Okay, Dean. Let's try again, shall we? Remember, everything is alright. It's alright here, and it's alright there. Nothing can touch you. Imagine yourself feeling safe and pleasantly tired. Let yourself go now. Picture yourself letting go and closing your eyes," she crooned.

Dean moistened his lips and rolled his head, but other than that he seemed to comply.

"Very good. Just close your eyes and let sleep take you. It feels good, okay? Everything's good," she whispered.

Suddenly Dean jerked under my hand, startling both Sandra and I.

"No," he mumbled.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't...I can't…can't sleep," he repeated.

"Yes, you can," Sandra countered.

"No," Dean said again. He was growing increasingly agitated.

"But you are falling asleep," Sandra assured, unrelenting this time. "In that place in your mind, you're just too tired to be awake, and you see yourself falling asleep."

Dean jerked again, this time with a gasp. It didn't seem voluntary, but rather the kind of muscle twitch you sometimes experience while falling asleep, that sensation which is like an electric shock or some other times a falling sensation. It was scary to see, nonetheless.

"It's alright, Dean," Sandra said, calmly.

He shook in the throes of another spasm and let out a pitiful groan.

"Dean," I spoke up.

My brother's eyes snapped open at once, wild and unfocused. Sandra lurched forwards and put her hand over his eyes to make him close them again. The gesture, though forceful, was gentle, unlike the scolding look she shot at me; a look that commanded silence and forced my gaze down to my brother's leg. I noticed that I had let go of Dean's ankle when I had stepped towards the head of the couch. Now, I placed my hand back over Dean's jeans. My teeth were clenched, my muscles were coiled, and I was ready to bolt.

Dean went still, but his breath was pretty erratic. I imagined that the wild pounding of his heart matched mine, which was hard and painful inside my chest.

"You're asleep now," Sandra told Dean calmly, as she withdrew her hand. "You see yourself asleep in there. It's comfortable and warm. Try to imagine the sensation."

Dean remained still, although his lips were pursed into such a thin line, they were almost white. Sandra studied my brother's tense expression with a shade of worry.

"Dean?"

My brother started to tremble. It was very subtle at first, so much so that I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been latched onto him. I shot Sandra a look full of alarm, but she ignored me.

"Dean, what's going on?" she tried.

"No..." he said shakily.

And that was too damn close to a sob for me to keep it together anymore.

"Sandra, stop it," I growled.

"Dean, tell me what is going on."

"No! Please..."

He started to toss harder. I forgot how to breathe.

"It's enough," I warned her.

"You've got to tell me what it is, so that I can help you," she insisted, and tried to grab my brother's shoulder.

"NO!" he cried out, as if in pain.

Dean was in pain

"I SAID STOP IT!" I yelled at her and forced her hand back.

The second I let go of Dean, his eyes snapped open, and he bolted up from the couch so fast he almost fell to floor. I jumped, startled, forgetting about Sandra immediately, and stared transfixed at my brother who sat wide-eyed and pulled air into his lungs with strained inhalations.

"Easy," Sandra's voice sounded next to my ear. "Easy, Dean, just breathe."

He flinched when he heard her, and then realization started to dawn on him. He took in his surroundings from behind long eyelashes which were dark against his pale features. I couldn't quite make out his expression since he kept his head bowed, but I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch, and his throat work.

"What happened?" Sandra asked him.

My fists clenched of their own accord.

_Give him a minute, for Christ's sake._

Dean shook his head. Sandra breathed deeply again.

"Dean, what woke you up?" she asked slowly.

Dean shook his head again and looked up. His eyes met Sandra's for the first time, and he uttered a naked, "I don't know."

Beside me, the doctor sagged a little and sighed with disappointment. Her professional mask slipped a little, and her eyes became a bit sad, compassionate. That expression of hers was the last straw for Dean. He wasn't someone who tolerated pitiful looks aimed at him. His gaze became steely, and all shade of emotion was shoved deep down before he squared his shoulders and attempted to stand.

"Take it easy," Sandra warned.

"I'm done with this," he grumbled, without listening to her.

He got to his feet but then swayed. When Sandra grabbed his elbow to steady him, he brusquely pushed her away.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped.

Afraid of him for the first time, Sandra let go. When he stumbled backwards I stepped forwards, and he practically crashed against me. He was ready to fight anything or anyone who tried to restrain him, so he tried to bat my hands away, but I clasped his arms firmly until I was able to get him to look me in the eye.

All the fight went out of him. His eyes widened, and he watched me with a heartbreaking expression of surprise. It was as if he had forgotten I was there, and all I could think was, What the fuck, man? I told you I wouldn't leave. I held on to give him time to catch his breath and reconcile himself with reality. I wasn't going to bother asking him if he was alright now, not while he was like this.

Dean gaped at me for a few seconds more, breathing heavily. I saw the muscle of his jaw jump; I saw his lower lip tremble and his eyes... His eyes held so much pain that I wondered how he could still be standing. Everything froze, my brain, my muscles, the freaking blood inside my veins. My brother was a hair's breadth away from breaking down, and the most I could do was shield him from the rest of the world until he pulled himself together to some extent.

_Breathe, Dean. I got you, okay? Just breathe._

He swallowed hard and looked down. It hurt less, somehow, now that I wasn't pinned by his bewildered, disbelieving gaze. He'd lost it for a second, but he was trying hard to collect himself. Only, he wasn't pulling away from me, wasn't even loosening the grip he had gotten on my T-shirt when he had swirled around ready to fight. I moved my hands from his arms to his shoulders and gently squeezed both sides of his neck.

_Hey._

He took a deep breath and looked up, although he steered away from eye contact. Noticing his hand gripping the cloth over my chest, he huffed an awkward laugh and let go of me with a soft pat.

_Nice try._

When I didn't let go of him, he had to meet my eyes whether he liked it or not.

"I need to get out of here," he whispered.

"Wait for me," I answered evenly.

"No." He swallowed. "Just...go home, okay? I'm alright, I just…I need some air."

I really didn't like that. Neither the sound or the idea. I didn't want to leave him alone, but that was exactly what he was begging me to do. I slowly released him, and he rewarded me with a thankful, intimate, little smile. It felt like his plea for air had been almost literal. And I would have done anything just to help him breathe easier.

"See you back at the apartment, then," I told him gravely.

Dean nodded and went around me to get to the door. I felt him giving my shoulder a soft squeeze when he passed and the next second he was gone without looking back.

Aware of the way my hands were trembling and how my heart was dancing wildly inside my chest, I allowed myself a deep breath. I felt the blood rushing in my ears, and my stomach tightening painfully. I didn't try to quell the anger, didn't even attempt to conceal it when I glared at Sandra, who stood by the couch with her professional expression firmly back in place.

"What the fuck was that?" I hissed.

I was almost disappointed when she didn't flinch at the icy quality of my voice. But her lack of reaction just meant that I would have to try harder to rattle her the way I wanted.

"I said What. The. Fuck. Was. That?"

"I have to see him again. We need to finish the session."

"Screw the session. What did you do to him?"

"I did nothing to him, Sam. The question is what is he doing to himself?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think he's doing this. That he's the one keeping himself awake."

"That's bullshit. He wants to fix it."

She didn't realize what it meant when my brother agreed to visit not only a doctor, but also a shrink. If she did, well, she certainly wouldn't be saying that Dean was avoiding sleep on purpose.

"I didn't say he was doing it consciously." She shook her head.

"Then what the hell are you saying?!" I roared.

Sandra moistened her lips and held my gaze with her serious eyes.

"I think something's happened to him," she said. "Something that's made him terrified to go to sleep, to the point he physically can't."

"That's impossible."

"You said it yourself, it's not the first time he…"

"That wasn't the same." I shook my head stubbornly. "When I had my accident, he didn't want to sleep. He never said he couldn't. And he slept, sometimes. This is not..."

_Normal._

"You don't realize just how powerful the subconscious is, Sam," she chimed in, "or how strong a person's subconscious can be. Your brother likes control, that's obvious from the way he talks, how he moves. He was fighting me throughout the session, just as I believe he's fighting the sleeping pills. Jesus, he couldn't even let himself imagine falling asleep!"

I shook my head again, defiance and disbelief making my gestures sharp, jerky.

"He would have told me," I countered. "If something had happened, he would have told me."

Sandra's features softened.

"I don't think he knows," she muttered.

I stood gaping at her and was torn between rage and worry.

"You don't know anything about my brother," I eventually said.

"I know he needs help."

"Yeah, but not yours."

I turned to leave before she could respond, before anything else could go to hell. Because maybeshe was right, maybe something had happened to him. But there was a full world of possibilities that she didn't know about, that she wouldn't know about thanks to people like Dean.

_No more strangers_, I thought. _They just don't get it._

I had never enjoyed feeling irrational. But at that point, I didn't care. I just wanted to talk to my brother.

* * *

**TBC**


	6. Night 10 Part Two

Hello! Thank you all for the awesome response last chapter had. It was really overwhelming!

This chapter is a bit shorter, I hope you won't mind. It's also the last chapter of the first part of the story, but I'll tell you more about the second part when we get to it. I hope you like it!

Em, thanks hon. I hope you're already feeling better by now.

And well, no need to remind you, but this is absolutely AU, especially given the season premiere ;-)

Lots of love -xx

* * *

**INSOMNIA**

**Chapter ****Six. ****Night ****10. Part 2**

Dean wasn't in the apartment when I got back. To be fair, I hadn't really expected him to be. I'd decided not to call him, because I thought it was better to give him the space he wanted. But that didn't mean I wasn't worried as hell. The way he had left Sandra's office had me already regretting letting him go off alone when he was so upset.

I just wanted him back, period.

He didn't come back at all that afternoon. Soon sunset gave way to night, and my worry started to border on panic. I was a second away from calling him -space and borders be dammed- when I heard a thud, followed by muffled laughter coming from behind the door. Then the doorbell rang loudly.

I was at the door in a heartbeat and opening it only to stumble under the sudden weight of my brother as he fell gracelessly.

"Dean!" I exclaimed, automatically shifting to get a good hold on him.

Someone grabbed his arm from behind, so that he didn't land full force against my chest. Too distracted by Dean's trembling form, I didn't process it at first. But after a beat I looked up and was more than surprised to find Josh behind Dean, half supporting him and half leaning against the doorframe.

"Josh? What the?"

Dean's muffled giggling vibrated through my veins like electricity, and I realized I had mistaken his laughter for shaking.

"Sammy!" he slurred, quite cheerfully, as he clumsily tried to transfer his weight back to his own feet.

"I believe this is yours," Josh said with a smirk.

My eyes flickered over my friend and then went back to my brother. My pulse was still a little too fast after having had Dean slump face first into me, and my brain was having problems catching up with the rest of the available information.

"Are you drunk?" I stuttered incredulously.

"Yeeeep." Dean grinned. He had succeeded in his efforts to right himself up, but as a result he was wavering noticeably. "Totally, absolutely, downright, way beyond wasted!" he announced happily.

"I can see that," I quipped, grabbing his elbow to steady him, and arching an eyebrow at Josh, who winked at me.

"Sam, man. Your brother totally rocks. How come you're not such a fan of partying?"

"See? That's what I always ask him," Dean chimed in, and turned to pat Josh's chest. He tripped over himself, and both Josh and I reached out to keep him on his feet. My mind was still reeling, and I was unable to find anything to say as my brother burst into a drunken fit of laughter all over again.

"Whoa," Josh chuckled as well. "Dude, what the hell was in that last shot? Told you, you shouldn't have had it. Some colors are just not natural in any drink labeled for human consumption."

"Ah, shut up, you wuss," Dean shot back good-naturedly. "You said any drink I wanted."

"Remind me not to play pool with you ever again," Josh replied with a smile.

Dean laughed and brushed past me to stumble his way to the couch; he would have crashed a handful of times if I hadn't been there to guide his unsteady pace. Josh followed us, ready to intervene if needed.

"You guys have been playing pool?" I asked in puzzlement.

"Yeah." Josh nodded. "But you should have warned me, Sam. You owe me a... What was the name of that shit, again? Whatever, you owe me a beer."

Dean laughed, and my own lips twitched. The situation was absolutely surreal. The last time I had seen Dean, he had been pretty much out of it. Then the next thing I knew, he was trashed, and apparently had become pool buddies with Josh. Regardless, I had my brother back; a brother who was three sheets to the wind, but who was present and safe after all. Something told me I owed Josh a lot more than a beer.

"Okay, frat boy. Let's put you to bed," I said amusedly.

I gave Dean a soft push forward to get him moving and tightened my hold on him when his head rolled limply against my shoulder. Josh saw I was in trouble and stepped forward as well, catching my brother by the armpit. Dean just groaned.

"Couch?" Josh questioned me.

I shook my head.

"No, help me take him to my room."

The three of us stumbled our way to my bedroom and, once we got there, Josh and I made Dean lie down on the covers.

"I got it from here, Josh," I whispered.

Josh nodded and tugged at my brother's ankle before giving it a firm squeeze.

"See you around, Dean. Take care of yourself."

"You too, man. Thanks," Dean mumbled.

Josh went back to the living room. I stayed for a minute longer to take off Dean's shoes.

"Bed's moving," he mumbled absently.

I looked at his face and found him gazing blearily at the ceiling.

"Yeah, I bet it is," I said, without bitterness. I finished with the shoes and spread a blanket over him. "Hang in there, I'll be right back."

I didn't wait to see if he heard me, just headed back to living room where I knew Josh would be waiting for me. And he was, indeed, sitting back on the couch with a hand on top of his head and his eyes closed. I smiled fondly, and made a detour to the kitchen.

"Hey."

Josh opened his eyes, and I passed him a bottle of water that he gratefully accepted.

"How is he?"

I recognized the roughness of his voice as the aftermath of his late night bar activities. After all I had lived with Dean long enough to encounter more "mornings after" than I could remember.

"He'll be alright," I said. Then I took a deep breath. "Josh..."

"I was having a beer with the guys at that club on Spring Garden Street," he started to explain, without even having been asked to. "The one you won't let me drag you to?" I smiled. "He came in around eight and went straight for the hard stuff."

I swallowed hard, conjuring the image in my head, despite knowing it would make my stomach tighten.

"I didn't bother him at first. I mean, you weren't with him and it's not as if I know him. But I stayed for a while longer when the others left." Josh shrugged. "I figured that if he was so bent on getting trashed, at least he could use some company while he was at it."

"You drank with him?" I asked, somehow amused by the idea.

"You can bet on that! Finally, a Winchester who lets me guide him through the amazing world of night life!"

I laughed.

"I _go _out with you," I protested weakly. "Sometimes."

"Yeah sometimes, Sam. And I really like you man, but you gotta admit it's not your thing," he said with a resigned sigh.

I smiled. He was finishing his water and was probably about to leave.

"Thanks," I told him honestly.

He looked at me and smiled a little as he left the empty bottle on the coffee table and stood up.

"No problem, man. It was fun. He didn't seem too eager to socialize at first, but when he recognized me, he graciously kicked my ass at pool and assessed my pissed-poor flirting techniques. It got me the number of the bartender!"

"Yeah, you're like the brother he never had," I chuckled, without heat.

Josh laughed and shook his head. I was on my feet too when he looked me in the eye.

"Listen," he started soberly, "I know it's none of my business, so I am not gonna ask. Just tell me if there's anything I can do, alright?"

"You've done enough."

"This was nothing, man. Nothing I wouldn't have done for any friend who's in a bad spot."

"Maybe. But thanks anyway."

"Okay, I should get going."

"You okay to drive?" I asked.

Josh smirked.

"Nah, absolutely not. But the cab's outside. Night, Winchester."

"Night, Josh."

He waved a dismissive hand and left. It was funny how much he resembled Dean in some ways. Would my brother have been like that at college? It sort of made sense.

I knew they would like each other.

I went back to Dean, who had curled on his side to face the door. He sensed me enter and gazed at me with slow, hazy blinks. For a second it was like seeing a sleepy child peering up trustingly from his bed, instead of an adult with more alcohol in him than it should be possible for any human to hold. A part of me wanted to be mad at him, because you just _don't _take off like that, you _don't_ get tanked without someone having your back or, at least, knowing where you were. Those were his rules, after all. However, it felt wrong to be mad at him now. He had been through enough already and, besides, I understood the need to run, to drown it all. I guess I just wished I could have been with him.

"Am I on your bed?" he slurred.

I laughed at the confused tinge of his voice. He sounded like a prudish girl waking up naked after her first sorority party.

"Yeah. Josh just left." I crouched next to him and tilted my head, fixing my eyes on his. "Do you need anything?"

"Huh...tequila..." he mumbled.

"Right. Don't you think you've had enough?" I countered. "Drinking until you pass out isn't going to fix anything."

"As long as I pass out."

I gaped at him for a few seconds, processing his words.

"Dean..." I started.

I had no idea of what to say. Not really. For all I talked and talked, my brain hadn't come up with a solution yet, and I hated myself for it.

Dean blinked at me, and his eyes were vulnerable and open in more than one sense. He trusted me despite everything, but I certainly hadn't proved myself deserving of being trusted. But he also _saw _me as no one else could. And when he took in the struggle inside me, my pain over not finding any comfort for him, he stopped waiting for it. He pulled a little carefree smile, and closed his eyes to sever the connection.

"I'm alright, Sam," he provided reassuringly.

I wanted to scream. Instead I placed my hand on his arm, and fingered the wrinkles of his shirt to smooth them. I wasn't petting him, no, never that. But the contact was the only way to ease the knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. The only way to pull in some air.

Dean didn't pull away, but I didn't know if it was because he also needed the contact or if he simply was past giving a shit about anything. His body was slowly but steadily shutting down, pulling his awareness deeper and deeper with every breath.

He had done it. Unconsciousness -if not sleep- was taking him. It meant that my window was narrowing.

"Dean, did something happen during the hunt? Or before that? Something you haven't told me about?" I whispered.

Dean swallowed and opened heavy-lidded eyes to fix me with a hurt, accusing look.

_You too, Sammy?_

I gulped and looked down, unable to keep his gaze. He moved then, rolling from his side to his back and pulled his arm from my grasp in the process.

"Dean..." I pleaded, brokenly.

He had rolled his head too, and was facing the opposite wall. Short of giving me his back, it was the most obvious way he had of shutting me out.

"I've told you everything, Sam," he grunted. "I wouldn't lie to you."

I looked down, swallowing convulsively. Tears came unexpectedly, and I found them rolling down my cheeks before I even had the chance to blink them back. It was all I could do to prevent my breath from hitching. I reached out again and brushed his elbow, needing to sense him warm and alive, despite how wiped out he looked. I was glad he wasn't looking at me now, when I was breaking down so pathetically.

"I know," I conceded, shakily. "It's just...we sometimes keep things from each other, right? When...when we don't want the other to worry, when we don't want him to get hurt..." I trailed off.

_When we fear the other will love us less because of it._

Dean seemed to ponder that for a second, and then his expression softened.

"Yeah, we do that, don't we?" he mused aloud.

He turned his head towards me, and I averted my eyes in a useless attempt to hide my tears. But it was too late. My brother frowned and lifted his arm; I startled when I felt the back of his hand brushing my tear streaked face with unexpected gentleness.

"Hey," he whispered. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head.

"Nothing, I…"

I gave a wet laugh and pulled in a deep breath.

_Get it together, Sam_.

I scrubbed my face to wipe the traces of tears and managed to look back at him.

"I guess I'm just tired." I forced a frail smile.

He dropped his hand and smiled back.

"You should get some sleep then."

I laughed again, because, honestly, we were so absolutely fucked up that any kind of border between laughter and tears had faded away a long time ago.

"Are we okay?" I asked, without caring if I sounded like a child.

Dean's smile widened fractionally before relaxing.

"Yeah, man. Of course we are," he said, closing his eyes.

It was enough for now. It had to be. Dean's breath fell into a regular pattern after a few minutes.

"I told you everything, Sammy..." were the last words he mumbled.

"Okay," I whispered my response, "Okay."

But I couldn't be sure if he heard me because liquor had won the fight over insomnia.

Finally, my brother was resting.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sleep barely gave him an hour of respite before the nightmare struck. I had gone to the kitchen to grab a snack to munch on as I watched over Dean before I tried to get some sleep myself on the sofa bed. But when I passed the bedroom door, I caught sight of my brother tossing under the blanket and jerking in an irregular staccato. I left my food on the table and approached the bed gingerly, wondering if there was something I could do to placate him before he jerked himself awake. However, when I was slowly reaching out to him, Dean bolted awake with a strained gasp.

"No!"

Startled, I pulled away my hand as my brother sat up in bed and gulped air in pained wheezes. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, and sweat had collected on his forehead and upper lip. Before I was able to react, he turned green and was stumbling his way to the bathroom.

"Dean!" I exclaimed.

I rushed after him and found him retching violently in the porcelain bowl. I grimaced in sympathy, because, well, I knew the feeling of getting reacquainted with too many tequila shots in such an unkind fashion. I left him for a second to go get a glass of water.

When I got back to the bathroom he was still heaving, although nothing else seemed to be coming out of his upset stomach. His whole body was shaking with exertion, and his arms barely held him. Besides, he was ghost-pale under the layer of sweat that covered his face. I left the glass on the counter and approached him carefully, because I wasn't sure that he had registered my presence yet; Dean was prone to bolt when he didn't feel good and someone snuck up on him.

"Hey, man." I crouched next to him and placed a hand on his back.

Despite my best intentions, I startled him. Dean let out a moan and shrank back from me.

"Dean," I said, hushed with palms up. "It's alright, it's me."

He had huddled himself in the corner, between the toilet and the tub, and looked awful. His head was angled up, as if he were struggling to breathe, and his eyes were blinking sluggishly, glazed and aimed at nothing. I got a couple of inches closer, without taking my eyes from his. Our legs brushed, and Dean groaned weakly, shook his head, and swallowed.

"You okay there?" I kept my voice low, even. Dean rolled his head towards me, but his eyes didn't seem to find me. "Dean?"

He jumped and closed his eyes again.

_He's drunk,_I realized.

It was understandable. He had been smashed just an hour ago and hadn't had time to sober up. Besides, he had been woken up by a nightmare, apparently a nasty one, and it was only natural that his already weakened body rebelled against it all. With a sigh, I reached out for a towel and soaked it under the tub faucet. When I tried to wipe his face, he backed away again with a muttered whimper.

"No..."

_He would have let Dad take care of him_. It was a fleeting thought. I didn't know where it had come from, and I forced myself to discard it.

"What's wrong, Dean?"

I thought he was about to pass out on me, right there on the bathroom floor, but then he started to tremble harder.

"No," he repeated, this time merely a whisper.

"Dean," I called again.

He shuddered and tensed. His breathing grew shallow and I faltered. This wasn't good. He was hyperventilating and even if he ended up simply passing out, it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Dean, hey, c'mon…"

I couldn't finish the sentence before my brother gagged and launched himself at the toilet again. The most I could do was back away to grant him access and watch him dry-heave helplessly. After a minute, though, prompted by the pained sounds he was making, I had to lean over and do something to help him. Anything. His arms had given way and he was slumped over the toilet, panting and shaking miserably. Hesitantly, I retrieved the wet towel and rubbed it tentatively across the back of his neck. He muttered something I didn't get and tried to shuffle away from the bowl. But he just didn't have the strength and all but collapsed again.

"Whoa," I muttered. "Come here."

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, I helped him straighten up and lean back against the tiled wall. Then I braced him by the arm as I reached for the glass of water I had brought in.

"Here, drink a little of this."

More in reflex than anything else, Dean lifted a trembling hand and took the glass. I didn't let go of it, since I was aware that it would fall the second I left it in his grasp. He managed a couple of gulps.

"Sammy..." he rasped.

I glanced at him as I placed the glass back on the counter. He still looked ragged and dazed, but it was the first sign that he recognized me.

"Yes. You with me?"

"Wh- what happened?"

"I think you had a nightmare," I replied, crouching in front of him. "Do you remember any of it?"

Maybe it was a bad moment to prod, but I had come to know a lot about nightmares and I felt that this one could be important. Anyway, Dean ignored my question. And for once, I didn't think he was doing it on purpose; he was simply struggling to get his bearings.

"How long?" he mumbled.

"What?"

"How long...? What time's it?

_Oh._

"It's a little past midnight, man. You might have slept an hour and a half…"

Dean made a sound that was too close to a sob to pass as a snort. It cut me off as effectively as a bullet piercing my lungs. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fists and breathed heavily through his nose. Then "heavy" made way to "shallow" and "too fast" all over again.

"Hey," I said, with my hand hovering over his arm. "Hey, take it ea…"

When he snapped his head back and banged it against the tiled wall, I almost jumped out of my skin.

"Dean!" I started, barely hearing my own voice over the furious pounding of my heart.

"I can't," he whispered.

"What?"

I ducked to try to catch his gaze, but what I glimpsed in the depths of his clouded eyes paralyzed me.

"I can't," he repeated.

Still stricken by the crazed look in his eyes, I couldn't react when he banged his head again. He was slipping away, going over the edge so fast that he had left me breathless. He was trashed, exhausted, and had been unable to rest for the last… Jesus Christ, was it close to 250 hours already? All the fight had left him, and I hadn't seen it coming, because, for some reason I was still acting like a stupid child who believed that my big brother could brush off what in any other context could have been considered torture of the worst kind.

"I can't…"

The third time he banged his head against the wall, I finally snapped out of my state of shock and started forward to keep him from hitting the tiles a fourth time.

"Stop it," I said through gritted teeth.

Dean grunted at the intrusion as he smashed his head against the hand I had slipped between him and the wall. I bit my lip and ignored the pain in my knuckles, then slipped my hand down from the back of his head to the back of his neck. Curling my fingers, I gave his neck a firm squeeze.

"Stop it," I repeated, as I pulled him against me and away from the wall. "Stop it."

He gasped and let out a pained little sound that downright undid me. Vision blurry with tears, I enveloped him in my arms and nestled him against my side in a scared, protective grip. He didn't fight me, but he didn't make it easier either; he simply fell onto me like a shaky rag doll.

"Dean, come on, man," I pleaded with a thin voice.

He didn't react to my call but started to rock in my grasp. I didn't attempt to quench the weak movement but followed it gently, because I didn't know what else to do.

"I can't," he kept repeating over and over. "I can't, I can't."

"You can't what? Can't what, Dean?" I asked brokenly, because at that very moment I honestly didn't know. Because it could mean anything from sleep, to remember, to stop the room from spinning or stay upright.

Anything or everything at the same time.

"Dean," I croaked. He didn't answer, and his disconnected tirade kept pouring from his lips. I pulled him closer, terrified that he didn't seem to hear or feel me anymore. "Please, man. Don't do this, don't. Stay with me, okay?"

The muscles in his stomach jumped, and I knew he was going to be sick again. Just in time, I maneuvered him so he was leaning on the toilet and was holding his head over it. I supported him by keeping my other arm around him and holding his back up against my chest. The strangled whimper he let out when the dry retching started again tore me apart, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was when he started to cry soft sobs that blended with the strained gasps and painful heaves.

"I can't." He started the repeating phrase again in the smallest of voices.

I couldn't have been holding him tighter or pulling him closer to me, and yet I felt so far away, so incapable of reaching him. I swallowed and buried my face in the crook of his neck, where my panicked breathing mingled with his. I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright, but I wasn't sure anymore that it would be. I wanted to tell him he was okay, but saying that was a lie didn't even begin to cover it. I wanted to tell him that I'd find a way to fix it, but...

But I was clinging to him, like a needy and helpless little boy. I was adding my fear to his, burdening him with my pleas to be stronger, instead of...

Instead of...

"I can't."

_Get a grip, Sam!_

"I know."

I eased him against my chest and away from the bowl again and held him with everything I had in me. Because, at last, I thought I understood what he needed. And that wasn't for me to lose it and force him to get it together to comfort me, but to be the strong one for once and pull him back from the darkness.

"I know, Dean, but that's alright," I shushed next to his ear. "You don't have to. Do you hear me, bro? You don't have to."

His ragged breathing hitched. I found his clammy hands and squeezed them in mine without stopping our slow rocking.

"I'm here," I assured him. "I got you and you don't have to do anything at all. Just…" I closed my eyes for a second and swallowed down a new wave of emotion. Willing my voice to be steady, I continued my litany of comfort. "Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me. I'll take care of the rest."

Dean grunted. I couldn't be sure that he was listening to me, but I wanted to think that he was. That even if he couldn't respond to me, my voice could always reach him, no matter what. He had always sensed me on some level, even when he had been hurt, unconscious or delirious. It wasn't so different now. And while I had given up the childish belief that he would magically kick his way back to the surface just because I asked, I had to hope I could still keep him from drowning. As long as my voice kept him grounded, I could believe that I would get him through.

"Breathe with me," I coached softly, one hand over his racing heart and the other one over his clenched stomach.

His hands fell limply over my legs, and he grunted again.

"Keep breathing, Dean."

A groan, this time slightly different. His stomach quivered and his fists tensed, but otherwise he wouldn't move. Reading in his body language the reason for his distress, I shifted the hand I kept over his middle and massaged the taut stomach muscles that the violent heaving had cramped.

"I got it," I assured him. "I know it hurts, just hang on."

He was still crying quietly, but at least he had stopped his tirade. When his fists loosened and his hands went limp again, I retrieved the wet towel and wiped the sweat and tears off his face. I continued over his chest, neck and shoulders. I kept at it for a few minutes, and I finally felt him relaxing as his breathing slowed down.

"That's it." I gave a shaky smile. "That's it, man, you're gonna be alright. I…God...I promise you're gonna be alright."

I held him tight and, when he squeezed my knees, I swear that I almost burst into tears.

_I have him back. I have him back. I have him back._

I still didn't know how I had managed to pull him from the edge, but I had been so close to losing him. And I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it again.

"Jesus, Dean," I breathed.

I shifted us both to sit a little bit more upright and rested my back against the wall, wisely not far away from the toilet. Dean, who remained mostly unresponsive, dragged in a deep breath and didn't try to pry himself from me.

"I'm not leaving you alone with Josh ever again," I muttered, attempting to joke our emotions down. "He's cool, but let me tell you, he's a magnet for trouble. Did you know that he tried to take me to a rave party the first day we met? And of course he asked me for my notes the day after."

I hadn't gone. To the rave. But, despite what Josh claimed, I had gone clubbing with him often enough. Oh, and I knew I was rambling, but I had the feeling that if I stopped talking I would start bawling. So yes, I told some anecdotes to Dean, without expecting any response, because the silence felt oppressive and although he had settled a bit, I knew he wasn't asleep. I just wished that his stomach would give him some reprieve and the heavy liquor running through his veins didn't make him sick. But apparently that was asking too much at that moment. When, after a while, I realized that he was sweating again, I allowed my talking to trail off so that I could reach out for the towel to try to cool down the upper part of his body. That's when I felt him squeezing my leg again.

"Keep talking," he mumbled with a rough voice.

"What?"

"Keep talking, Sammy," he pleaded. "It...It calms me down."

My throat tightened, and I let out a chuckle to cover the quiver of my voice.

"I'll remember that, man, when you shut me up in the passenger seat of the Impala."

He smiled. I mean, I couldn't _see _it, but I would have bet my soul that he had smiled. In that moment I felt like I couldn't possibly love anyone more than I loved him. So I kept talking. Of course I did.

It was my brother's tenth sleepless night, and we spent it huddled on my bathroom floor, while I rambled about anything and everything for hours, as I was willing to keep it up for as long as it took to calm him, even if I lost my voice.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**Epilogue**

It was near six in the morning when we moved. We were both stiff and cold, and Dean wasn't leaning into me in distress anymore, just in utter exhaustion. The last time he had thrown up had been almost an hour ago, so apparently it was finally safe to say the nausea had abated. I swallowed and wet my lips in an attempt at getting some moisture to my vocal cords. Against me, Dean sighed.

"How are you feeling?"

Dean murmured an indefinite sound and tilted his head back against my shoulder by lazily rolling his neck.

"My head is killing me," he mustered.

I brought my hand to his head without thinking and pressed a finger idly behind his ear. It was something that I probably wouldn't have done any other time, but after the scare he had given me, I didn't really give it too much thought.

"Hangover's a bitch, huh?"

"You bet," he grunted, leaning an inch into my hand. "But let me tell you something, being drunk without being able to sleep it off is even worse."

I chuckled and then uttered a soft apology when the vibration jarred his head, and he protested.

"Think you wanna get off the floor and lie down for a while? It's still early."

Dean seemed to mull it over for a second before responding.

"Yeah. Okay."

I disentangled myself from him and then helped him up. My brother swayed and held his head in his hands, but I quickly steadied him and held on to make sure that his knees wouldn't buckle. When he gave me a sign that he wasn't about to take a nosedive –that sign being a mildly annoyed push for me to let go of him- we made our slow way back to my room, where he crawled under the covers. I went to get a couple of aspirins from the bathroom cabinet. I also brought back a glass of water and sat down on the bed with them outstretched in my hand.

"Take these."

My brother eyed the pills and accepted them without protest.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Nah, I'm alright."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," I muttered.

Unable to leave him just yet, I remained sitting there awkwardly for a couple of more minutes. Finally, I stood up and headed to the door.

"Sammy?"

I stopped at the door frame.

"Yeah?"

"There was a girl."

"Where?"

"In my dream. Before waking up, I saw a girl."

I was back by his side in an instant.

"A girl?"

He kept his eyes closed and didn't answer.

"Who was it? The mara?" I asked, pushing him.

He shook his head carefully.

"No, the mara was older."

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

I swallowed down my frustration and ran a hand through my hair.

"I think I've seen her before," he said softly after a few seconds of silence. I let my hands drop and sat down on the edge of the bed to listen to him. "I'm not sure, but I think I...saw her, at the shrink's office, while she was trying to do her whammy. I don't really remember."

"You saw her like…like some kind of spirit?"

"Sammy, I don't know."

"Dean." I shook my head. "A _girl_ is doing this to you?"

Dean opened his eyes and fixed me with a tired glare.

"I.Don't.Know."

I sighed and turned my gaze to the wall.

"Man, we can't keep going like this. We gotta _do_ something, we..." I looked down when he averted his eyes. "Dean, I think it's time."

Dean bit his lip uncomfortably, and said nothing. Obviously, he had already reached the same conclusion, only he had tried to put it off as long as possible, in truly Dean's fashion.

"You know we need to go back there, right?"

The corresponding 'Sam's fashion' had often tended to revolve around breaking Dean's safe bubble of denial. Not that I was so proud of it, but sometimes someone had to.

"Yeah," he whispered, "I know."

I nodded. As permission went, it would have to be enough.

"Get some rest now. We'll head off after lunch."

* * *

**So, what did you think? See you, guys, in part two!**


	7. Insomnia Second Part

**So, here you have, guys, the second part of the story. I thank again all of you who keep reading this story, and especially those who take the time to let me know what they think of it. You make it all worth!**

**All my love to my beta, Emrys, who rocks. Plain and simple.**

**About this second part, I'm honestly a bit nervous because we are approaching the solution of the mystery, and I'm all worried about your reaction. Anyway, as you'll see, the structure will change a bit from now on. It's still Sam's POV and first person, but the time line is going to combine with flashbacks _in italics_. Those flashbacks (Sam's POV but not first person) take us back to the deal-breaking time: how did it happen and how it affected the boys. Eventually it will come together with how and why they went separate ways.**

**Sam is going to be the main character in those flashbacks and, I warn you, he's going to be in a very dark place. I hope you'll be able to understand his reasons and his state of mind. Despair does that to people.**

**And we just love to upgrade the emotional tension to the limit.**

* * *

**Insomnia**

**Part Two**

"_It's gotta work"_

_Bobby scrubbed his face and blew out a weary breath. They had been arguing about it for hours and when he looked at the young Winchester again, it was with pained, intense eyes that begged him to understand._

"_I never said it wouldn't work," he said, still trying to reason with the younger man. "But Sam..."_

"_But what?"__ Sam had started to pace. He was shaking, physically shaking and his eyes had taken a desperate shine that made him look dangerous. "It's the only thing I've found, the- the only way, Bobby."_

"_We don't__ know that, we still have time."_

_Sam fixed the older hunter with an incredulous stare. Time? Bobby had to be joking._

"_I've been digging for _months_. And he's got less than that, now. So don't tell me he has time, because…"_

"_Son, you _can't_ do it. Dean would just tear himself apart, turn heaven and hell upside down or follow right after you, and you know that! What solution would that be?"_

_Sam stopped his tirade and clenched his fists. He had given Dean's reaction a thought, and he had to admit Bobby was right. If something happened to him, it would only put them back at square one. It was something Dean wouldn't get over. At best, it would be like running in circles…circles of endless pain that he knew too well. He wanted to save Dean __―__had to save him, because there was no other option__―__ and to do that he was ready to sacrifice himself. But not if that in turn _killed_ Dean. It didn't make any sense. No, he couldn't put him through all that again._

"_Then, it'll have__ to be someone else," Sam deadpanned._

_Bobby froze._

"_Kid, think about what you'__re saying," he said, brokenly._

"_I am thinking."_

"_No, you're not", Bobby growled. "You're panicking, and I understand, but there are limits."_

_Lips pursed in a thin line, __Sam squared his jaw and stared back at Bobby with a wild, heated expression. Bobby was right; he wasn't thinking, and he was definitely panicking. But he was also wrong._

"_No", he whispered. "There aren't!"_

"_Sammy…"_

"_It's Sam!"__ the youngest Winchester yelled._

_Bobby falte__red and hurt shined in his eyes, but he wasn't one to be easily deterred._

"_Sam, listen to yourself!" Bobby countered__. "If you do that, what would you…how would you keep going after that?_

_Sam swallowed and __noticed the treacherous moisture collecting in his eyes a split second before wiping at them angrily. His hand was trembling, and he was making a visible effort not to give in to his emotions. Bobby's expression softened, but before he could say anything else Sam's voice rang out, thin but clear from his side of the room._

"_I don't know. But at least _he_ will keep going, Bobby. I won't contemplate any other future."_

"_You really think that, son?" Bobby sighed__. "After all that has happened, what you two have gone through, you really think he'd be alright if you…"_

"_Then let him hate me. He'll be alive, that's all that matters."_

_Bobby sighed._

"_It seems to me that you don't know your brother at all."_

_Sam __glowered, but it didn't stop Bobby, who spoke slowly and stressed every single syllable._

"_It would break him. You'll destroy him, Sam!"_

"_I'm saving him!" Sam __roared._

"_There're only so many times a man call pull himself together, even Dean__," Bobby hissed._

"_Then don't tell him__," Sam challenged._

"_If it's the only way to stop you, I will__."_

_Sam swirled, grabbed Bobby and pinned him against the wall in a single, swift motion. The older hunter didn't fight him but stared unflinchingly at Sam's crazed eyes._

"_Your Daddy was right, is that what you're telling me?" Bobby whispered._

_Sam paled, and his lower lip trembled. Looking stricken, he let go of Bobby and stumbled back a step._

"_My Dad…" he mumbled, eyes downcast. Then he chuckled. The laugh sounded filled with tears. "My Dad wanted Dean to kill me," he finished softly._

_Bobby swallowed hard. Right before Sam looked up with steely eyes._

"_But he didn't," Sam continued. "He _died_ for me. And you know what? That's the difference between the two of them."_

_Running his hand through his hair, Sam tried to get himself together, to regain some kind of control or at least the physical equilibrium that would allow him to escape. Following Sam's movements in bewilderment, Bobby remained leaning against the wall._

"_I know you love him, Bobby, I really do." Sam fixed him a forlorn look that made the seasoned hunter's heart clench in sorrow. "But that's not enough anymore. You love him alright, but now I need you to prove it. So you can help me, or you can stay the fuck out of my way."_

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

It felt weird, the driving. Being behind the wheel with my brother in the passenger's seat and only the open road before us. It felt weird but also familiar, like a lost habit you're not used to anymore, but that still feels more natural and comfortable than any other thing in your life.

Dean was dozing next to me. Or kind of, just not quite. We had taken off for New Sterling, Colorado ―the town where Dean had fought the mara in his last gig― as soon as my brother had been up to it. He had spent the last few hours zoning out of me on his seat, but I was okay with that. Trying to engage him in conversation would only serve to aggravate his headache, and there was no need to do such a thing, especially since the rumble of the Impala was oddly relaxing.

I felt like I could get used to it again. And the thought scared me.

I glanced at Dean when he stirred and blinked heavy eyes to squint out of the window. He rotated his neck, rubbed his temples and leaned back with a sigh. He didn't seem in pain anymore; maybe the painkillers had finally kicked in.

"Hey," I said, welcoming him back. "How are you feeling?"

Dean cleared his throat and rasped, "Bored out of my mind"

I snorted.

"I see you're better. Want me to play some music?"

"No, it's alright." He gave me a sidelong once over. "Are you tired? Do you want me to drive?"

I smiled. To be honest, I was beyond tired, since I hadn't had much sleep for a long time either. But I was okay with driving; for once, I really felt like doing it.

"Nah, but I could use something to eat. Do you mind if we stop if we find some diner? You should have something too."

"I'm not hungry," he said and shrugged.

"You sound like a brat."

"And you sound like an obsessive granny. Back off."

I shook my head and refused to follow him down the childish path. Despite the fact that there was no real heat in my brother's voice, if there was a way to turn banter into a real fight I would easily find it given that hung-over Dean was a cranky type. Besides, I had already made a mental note to force some food into him regardless. Which I suppose proved him right in the "obsessive granny" department.

We stopped half an hour later in a nice enough roadside diner. Dean seemed relieved to stretch his aching limbs, and I remembered what the doctor had said about Dean's body not getting enough rest. However, I said nothing, because after the night we had just had, anything was better that the broken image of my brother shaking in my arms.

In the diner, we both asked for coffee. _Strong_ coffee. Dean had given up trying to find something that would knock him out –like sleeping pills or alcohol- and was now back to hunting for full stimulants. I ordered a hamburger and fixed Dean with a pleading look that he returned with a roll of eyes. Then he ordered a chicken sandwich for himself without tearing his gaze from mine.

_Happy?_

I was, and I let him know that with a smile, although I made sure to lower my eyes, because if I seemed at all victorious he would turn his health into a pissing contest. I knew he would. Besides, he wasn't "not eating" to piss me off, but because he was probably feeling queasy.

We ate in comfortable silence. The diner was almost empty, quiet and so… _normal_ that before we noticed we had switched into familiar automatic movements. Dean seemed relaxed and was even regaining a bit of color.

_Don't look victorious, don't look victorious…_

"So," I started, taking out our father's journal, "tell me more about the girl you saw."

Dean groaned and stretched himself out on the seat.

"Ah, Sammy, c'mon, not now…"

"Dean," I admonished, "it may be important. My first guess would be a spirit, but we should find some entity able to mess with people's sleep. I don't think I've read anything similar in Dad's journal, well, other than the mara. But I'll hit the library as soon as we get there…"

I trailed off when I noticed Dean was looking at me with an amused glint in his eyes.

"What?"

"You're a real geek, you know that?"

"Shut up," I grunted, but my lips curled up on their own accord, and I didn't fight the warm feeling that blossomed in the pit of my stomach.

It was nice to pretend we weren't on a race to save my brother's sanity, and his life, all over again, but instead were just discussing a random hunt over every day fast food. So I caved for the moment and decided to drop the topic for both our sakes.

"So, I take it you've become good at research now," I commented.

"I've always been good," Dean protested, faking offense. "I just don't _crave_ it, you freak."

I threw my napkin at him, and he slapped it off his face with a chuckle.

"Anyway, if I ever hit a dead end, I just call Bobby."

I pursed my lips, and gulped, feeling my stomach sink cold again. To dissimulate, I busied myself with my drink and kept my eyes low for a few seconds while I struggled to keep my face blank. Of course I didn't fool Dean, who studied me warily as soon as his innocent comment rendered me at a loss for words.

"Have you two talked at all since you…you know."

Unable to make up an excuse, I took a deep, silent breath and shrugged my negative. Dean just watched me gravely, with his mouth half open to form the question he wouldn't ask.

"How's he doing?" I asked instead.

Dean took an excruciating second to answer while his eyes bored holes into my bowed head. When he finally did answer, his tone was light, as if he had agreed to not go there for the time being.

"Well, you know Bobby. Same old same old"

"That's good, I guess?"

"Yeah, I can't imagine him any other way."

I smiled tentatively and raised my eyes to meet my brother's. He smiled tiredly.

"You ready to go?"

"Sure."

We left the diner and went back to the Impala, which glistened like a jewel in the colorful evening light. The breeze was cool, refreshing. It was the kind of sunset where you couldn't help but believe there was a light at the end of every tunnel.

"Wanna drive?"

The calm around me had soothed my nerves, and the words slipped out before I was aware of them. A step behind me, Dean faltered.

"Why, you okay?" He was surprised by the offer, and searched my eyes, concerned.

"Yeah," I said automatically. "I just thought you may be tired of riding shotgun."

"Are you serious?"

We would probably reach the next town by nightfall anyway –couple of hours, maybe less. Dean had just had a dose of coffee, but not enough to send him into tremors and tachycardia, and I thought he would enjoy the drive. He had always been more comfortable in the driver's seat, and it would keep him alert. The road was a straight line, and so far we had found it practically deserted. Moreover, I wasn't planning to sleep, and I would keep a watch on him.

So yeah, I was serious.

"If you want," I concluded.

Dean's gaze jumped unsurely from his car to me as he bit his lower lip.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Sam," he muttered, awkwardly. "I… my head is a bit fuzzy."

I looked down, feeling like I had just been slapped in the face. Worse, as if I had just slapped _him_.

_Of course he isn't up to it, you idiot_. _And he wouldn't risk you because of pride._

I was trying to help, but I had just embarrassed him more. The good mood of the last few hours vanished as I was reminded of the real reason we were there.

"Oh, yeah, of course…" I mumbled, walking to the driver's side of the car.

Dean just hung his head and got into the passenger seat.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

My brother dismissed me with a shake of his head. I started the car and, this time, I switched on the radio to pick up a station that would distract us the rest of the way.

As I had predicted, we got to a town called Davenport a couple of hours later, and we easily found a cheap motel. Dean took a shower as I set up the laptop. After a little while, I went out for more coffee. When I got back, Dean was stretched out on the bed closest to the door, with his head buried in the pillow.

"Is that coffee?" his muffled voice came roughly.

"Yep."

Dean groaned, flipped onto his back, and sat against the headboard. He held out his hand and I handed him a steaming cup. I sat behind the computer, and sipped my own cup as I watched Dean from behind the laptop monitor.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"You wanna talk about the girl now?"

He closed his eyes and gave a long suffering sigh.

"There's nothing much to talk about. I barely saw her."

"What'd she look like?"

"I don't know, like a regular girl? Around fourteen or fifteen, long hair, brunette. Blue eyes…"

"Did she say something to you? Did she _do_ something?"

"Nothing, she was just staring at me." He frowned, thoughtfully, "She seemed scared."

"Scared of what?"

"I don't know."

I tapped idly at the keyboard and tried to figure out what to search. Dean wasn't giving me much to go on. A scared girl? If she wasn't trying to hurt him, why was she keeping him awake? Was she trying to reach him, to ask for his help?

"Anything else? Anything special?"

"No." He shook his head, then hesitated. "Well, actually…"

"What, Dean? Actually, what?"

"She had this weird…glow around her."

"Like an aura?" I asked, interested.

"Maybe?"

"Mmm," I muttered.

"Does it mean anything to you?"

_Not yet_.

"I'll look into it," I assured him, facing the screen.

"What?" Dean grumbled. "Now?"

I arched an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean, now?"

"Ain't you gonna sleep?"

I snorted.

"Dean, I'm alright. I can keep going for a few more hours."

All things considered, I found it hilarious that he suggested otherwise. Apparently, though, Dean had a different opinion.

"That's bullshit," Dean countered fiercely.

I almost flinched at his no-nonsense tone. It was a reminder of our childhood, I guess. Dean had always been the good cop compared to Dad, but raising a stubborn child had entailed its fare share of scolding.

"You're barely standing. I'm insomniac, not blind," Dean kept on.

"Okay, I'll admit I'm a little tired," I said, rolling my eyes and pulling a 'geez' face. "But it's not like I'm gonna run a marathon or anything."

"Sam," he warned.

"Dean," I shot back, challenging.

Brow furrowed, Dean stared at me for some long seconds, and I stared right back. No way was I going to just…lie down and sleep while he languished next to me. My brother needed me and I wouldn't let him down, no matter how little rest I would have to have myself. It was a promise, a vow that went unsaid. I wouldn't give up until I'd fixed things.

_Just like last time._

My stomach flip-flopped. Something changed in his eyes, and I knew he was thinking about the same thing I was. He looked away, causing my unsettled stomach to tighten in a painful knot.

"I'm just saying that you should take it easy," Dean shrugged. "You said it yourself once, there's no reason for the two of us to be awake when at least one could be sleeping."

I shook my head imperceptibly, reluctant to give in. I had never been good at following through with that particular idea, and I wasn't afraid to admit it.

"One of us has to drive, Sammy," Dean added softly. "And I…I need you at the wheel."

It was my undoing. I sighed my capitulation and powered off the computer, without looking at Dean. I was embarrassed about forcing him to admit that he needed my help –_again_-, in more ways than simply driving.

"Alright," I half-huffed half-whined, earning myself a 'what are you, five?' condescending smile from my brother when I met his eyes again. "I'll sleep."

He seemed genuinely pleased with my answer, and I thought his approval was worth a few hours of sleep.

I admit I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_Dean __sat on his bed, cleaning the guns, all focus, countenance and silent energy running through his deft fingers. He had gotten quieter in the last few days. He always answered when Sam talked to him, and definitely started some conversations, but he was slowly withdrawing into himself day by day and his little brother noticed._

_Then again, o__nly fourteen days separated him from Hell, so Sam guessed anybody would be affected._

_Sam observed his brother from the threshold and took in his posture, his gestures, all the things that made him _Dean_. He also noticed his stillness, the dark shade of sadness that weighed him down no matter how much he tried to hide it. The younger brother knew Dean was aware of his presence, but he still wouldn't look up. Probably he was trying to avoid another chick-flick moment. Trying to avoid it, because he feared would be the one that would make him fall apart._

_Sam bit his lip and looked away, blinking back the moisture that threatened to spill from his eyes; Dean hated to see him cry. It would be easier to pretend, to smile at Dean and joke about the care he put into cleaning the weapons or to bitch about the disorder. Maybe offer him to go out for a pizza. But his mouth had other ideas._

"_Do you regret it?"_

_The question was out, despite his immediate intentions, but the moment he asked it, he realized it had been burning in his throat for weeks now. Dean looked up briefly, probably trying to make sure that he had heard Sam right…or to convince himself that he had heard him wrong. Anyhow, Sam's face must have been such a display of raw and angsty anticipation that all doubts or hopes vanished._

"_No," he replied._

_Then he looked back down to the weapons and that was it. Just like that._

_Sam swallowed and left his corner next to the door to lean against the edge of the desk. His body felt funny, as if too much blood was rushing through his limbs too fast. He had the sensation that if he didn't sit down, he was going to take the quick way to the floor, face first._

"_You can tell me," Sam heard himself say through the roar of blood that pounded in his head. "It wouldn't mean that…that you want me to die. It would only mean that you don't wanna go to Hell…"_

_He didn't know why he pushed,__ couldn't honestly imagine why he wanted so bad to hear Dean say something that would make them both feel much, much worse. However, if Dean said it, then Sam would have a reason to do what he had to do. It would be the blessing he desperately needed, and Bobby had failed to give him._

_Dean glanced at Sam again__ and, frowning slightly, studied him for a few seconds. Then he sighed and shook his head, and Sam feared he wasn't going to answer._

"_Dean?" Sam rasped, ignoring how needy he sounded._

"_I don't want to go to Hell," the older brother said softly, then met Sam's eyes with a stern look. "And I don't regret it."_

_He made it sound so simple. Sam swallowed hard and closed his eyes, nodding. He understood. How could he not? And as far as he was concerned it was enough of a reason to do whatever it took, just as he had promised Dean. No hesitations, no regrets._

"_Sit down, Sam," Dean said calmly, without looking up again. "You look like you're about to pass out."_

_And __Sam complied, mind automatically set onto his plan, even as his legs threatened to disappear under him. _

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

We got to New Sterling the following evening, at sunset, after another long day on the road. Dean and I hadn't talked much during the journey. He had been awake when I woke up, of course, and even though it was only six in the morning, I had decided to get ready so we could take off early. He was already silent then, and when I asked him what he had been doing while I slept, he just shrugged and headed to the shower.

He almost passed out in there. He never told me, but he didn't have to, because when he got back to the room, he sat slumped against the headboard of his bed with his head tilted back to drag in deep, controlled breaths. I offered him water, and he accepted it wordlessly and without bitching, but he didn't touch the breakfast I had gone out to get. Then, when we went to the car, he barely made it there without crashing to the ground. And although I didn't hold him up, I made sure I was walking right by his side because he was staggering like drunk.

As soon as he was in the passenger seat, he did something he's _never_ done before. He reclined the seat back to lie down.

"You wanna try and stretch out in the back seat?" I asked him.

He shook his head and that was all I got out of him for quite some time. I think his dizziness abated some, but when we stopped around midday for lunch he was hit by another spell. The second he stood up, he was forced to lean against the roof of the Impala for several seconds. His sense of equilibrium was downright shot to hell by then, and he wavered whenever he was vertical. He managed some snacks and an energy drink before collapsing back into the seat with a groan.

"Man," he complained. "Really, can't you just knock me out or something?"

I smiled behind the wheel and glanced at his wiped out form from the corner of my eye in time to see him rubbing gritty eyes.

"Why don't you keep your eyes closed?" I suggested, noticing how blood-shot they looked, "let them rest?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder.

"Because it doesn't work," he whispered, "and… it gets too dark."

I sent him another glance, but he was turned towards the window, and I couldn't see his face. I kind of knew what he meant anyway; I recognized the feeling from the sleepless nights after Jessica's death. When your brain refuses to let go, and dozens of disjointed thoughts race through your mind and conscience without you being able to stop them, make sense of them or just escape your own brain, you'd give anything to be able to slip into the safety of sleep. Dean couldn't, so watching the scenery pass was his only way to numb his jumbled brain and drown out the white noise in his head.

Any other time, he would have been behind the wheel with his music blaring out the speakers. But unfortunately the former scenario was out of the question if we wanted to make it in one piece, and I didn't think his head was in any condition to deal with the latter.

"Hey," I muttered, wanting to drag his attention my way.

His eyes unguarded for a split second, Dean looked at me from across the front seat. Suddenly there were too many heartfelt things I wanted to tell him, but all of them would sound far too cheesy, so I only smiled at him, encouragingly.

_We're together. It never gets _too _dark when we are._

He arched an eyebrow in a universal "What?" gesture, but when I looked back to the road without saying anything else, he probably started wondering if I had already answered after all.

"You're such a girl, Sammy," he huffed, with an amused shake of his head.

He got it right.

I started humming without thinking settling for any tune that Dean may know. I was first rewarded for my efforts when neither a snort nor a smartass remark was forthcoming from him. I was further rewarded when I realized that he seemed genuinely pleased. After a minute he even closed his eyes and tried to relax.

The road swallowed the hours until we entered the little town my brother had left almost two weeks ago. Following his directions, I found the motel he had stayed in -good shower, and the wallpaper wasn't too creepy, why wouldn't he have chosen it?- before going for dinner. After the toll the day had taken on him, my plan had been for him to stay in while I went to grab something edible. But he would have none of that, alleging that as long as we didn't know what was going on out there, he wasn't letting me out of his sight. His fixation was both inconvenient, because it was obvious he wanted to lie down, and annoying, because I wasn't five anymore. His obsession with changing the focus of concern from him to me was frustrating on a good day. But it was nice too. A kind of 'safe' and 'home' and '_jerk_' nice, and so I caved again.

We drove to a diner I had spotted that announced kebabs and other Turkish food. It was a change from burgers, and though it still had its share of greasy meat, it also had a wider range of salads. I told him to stay in the car while I picked something up, but he wanted to keep moving. To 'clear his mind', he said. Two seconds after standing up, though, he all but crashed back against the car. His hands gripped the metal frame so hard that his knuckles got white.

Seeing him so weak was one of the hardest things I've had to witness. But I wasn't going to run; I just stayed by his side and placed a comforting hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm alright," he protested weakly, defensive. "My head swam for a second, that's all."

He wasn't looking at me, but I nodded anyway, and let my hand drop across his back until it rested lightly on his waist. A few seconds later, he shifted his grip on the car and caught hold of my arm. Taking a deep breath, he used the support I offered to straighten up.

"You don't look so dandy," I muttered before being able to stop myself.

Dean looked up at me with a crooked smile.

"Well, think about it this way, little brother, maybe this time girls will notice _you_."

"Shut up." I chuckled.

Dean's smile widened and his eyes took on an amused glint when I punctuated my words with a light shove.

"Ready to…"

"DEAN!!"

The cheerful call startled both of us, and we barely had time to turn around before a girl approximately ten years old threw herself into my brother's arms. Dean huffed and brought his hands around the girl's shoulders, staggering backwards precariously.

"Monica, hey," he greeted her.

An unexpected smile blooming on his face, he recovered his balance and squared his shoulders chivalrously to hug her back. I relaxed as soon as I was sure there wasn't a threat, and that my brother was steady on his feet. A young woman appeared then with a pleased look despite the chiding tone she used to pry her daughter from Dean.

"My God, Monica, don't be so rough! C'mon, let him go," she chastised. Then she looked at Dean with a beaming smile. "Dean! I'm glad to see you! I thought you said you were leaving."

Dean smiled at the woman, too.

"I was," he said. "Sam, this is Sylvia. Sylvia, this is my brother Sam."

"Hello Sam, nice to meet you," Sylvia greeted me.

I shook her hand politely, although I still felt confused. Then Dean disentangled himself from the tiny arms that kept him close and kneeled before the girl.

"And this young lady here," he started with a smile that mirrored hers, "is Monica."

It was like magic, the way his features softened when he talked to her. I knew Dean was good with kids, but it never ceased to amaze me _how _good he was with kids.

"Hi, Monica," I greeted her, crouching at her level too.

Monica looked at me wide-eyed, went shy all of a sudden, and stepped back to her mother.

"I'd say girls still prefer _you_, bro," I muttered.

Dean chuckled, and we both stood up. My brother didn't even waver, although his strength was close to the limit. I knew he was keeping it together only because of Monica and Sylvia's presence.

"So what are you still doing here, Dean?"

"I had some stuff to tie up. How's Mark doing?"

"Oh, he's alright. He'll want to know you're still around."

"Mom?" Monica interrupted, "can Dean come to have dinner with us?"

"Monica, I'm sure Dean and Sam have other plans."

"Please!" Monica turned to look at Dean with shinny eyes that would rival what Dean called my puppy-dog's look anytime. "Please, Dean, come! I have a new model car I want to show you!"

I laughed under my breath.

"We wouldn't want to impose," Dean said, trying to excuse us from the offer. "Besides, we were just going to grab something to eat back at our room."

"At a motel room?" Sylvia asked. "Oh, no, _that _I can't let happen. You know you're most welcome at our home. After what you did for us, what's a dinner?"

"It's okay. Really, Sylvia."

"Seriously, it's nothing. Besides, it'll give Mark the chance to say hi, too."

"Yes, c'mon, Dean. C'mon, c'mon…" Monica pleaded.

Cornered between the kindness of these people he really didn't want to rebuff and the need to be back at the room, just the two of us, before his forces gave out, Dean looked at me questioningly. I shrugged lightly, because I couldn't make the decision. It was his call.

"Okay," he said, finally accepting. "Thanks."

Monica jumped in joy, and she would have knocked Dean to the floor if I hadn't been a step behind him to balance him.

"Great. You remember where our house is, right? We were heading back now, so you can just follow us in your car."

"Sure thing. Thanks, Sylvia."

"See you in a while. C'mon Monica. Let's go."

The girl waved at us and followed her mother towards a grey SUV. As soon as their backs were to us, Dean slouched against the hood and closed his eyes.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" I asked, still surprised that he had accepted in the first place.

"I'll be fine." He sighed.

"Who are they?"

Dean opened his eyes and cranked his neck to get rid of the stiffness.

"Monica's father was one of the people the mara was latched to. I barely got here in time." He shrugged before climbing inside the car.

I sighed and glanced at the woman and the girl getting in their car.

_But you did._

I hoped that this time it wouldn't be too late either.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Mark turned out to be a very nice man, who was extraordinarily happy to see my brother. The second we trespassed the doorframe, the whole family gave us the warmest of welcomes and took us in as their own. It felt strange, but not unpleasant. It was definitely hardest for Dean, who despite all appearances was the shyer of the two of us and always felt extraordinarily out of place when people showed him gratitude. Not to mention that he was running on scarce reserves of resilience. I knew he wouldn't keel over there, not in front of Monica and her family, just as he wouldn't stop in the middle of a hunt, no matter how bad he was bleeding or how many bones he had broken.

So I could only cringe at the certainty of how hard he was going to crash once we got back to the motel.

I learned that Mark had been very close to dying after weeks of weakening fevers and general deterioration that no doctor seemed able to diagnose. When Dean got there Mark had slipped into a coma, and Sylvia had been so desperate that she had trusted my brother and let him do whatever it took, no matter how weird his story must have sounded to her. Besides, Dean had made Monica smile again; apparently the kid loved classic cars models, a hobby that his father had started her in, and she had liked Dean right away.

The dinner was good, and Dean made a laudable effort to get some food into himself, in spite of his unsettled stomach. We didn't talk about what had brought us back to New Sterling and, of course, not much about what we usually did.

_What _Dean_ usually did now._

We didn't talk much about ourselves, period, but they didn't push and for the majority of the time, we could navigate a normal conversation just fine. By dessert, Dean asked where the bathroom was and excused himself. I wasn't as inconspicuous as I wanted to be as I kept track of him as he exited the dining room and when I lost sight of him, I turned to Sylvia and Mark with an inner sigh.

"Is he okay?" Sylvia asked with open concern.

Mark was also staring at the door gravely, and I decided that if Dean hadn't been able to pretend nothing was wrong, it was useless for me to try to fool anybody. The thought made me sad, and suddenly I wished I could just bundle him into the car and drive away from people who shouldn't know about his condition.

"He's alright," I answered. "A little tired, but it's been a hard couple of weeks."

Sylvia studied me for a few seconds, although I kept my eyes stubbornly glued to the plate, and finally lowered her gaze in quiet "None of my business" acceptance. Mark, on the other hand, didn't seem convinced.

"He's not sleeping, is he?" he ventured softly. "I looked just like him at the beginning, and I didn't want to admit it either…"

"It's not the same thing." I cut him off, defensively.

Both pairs of eyes set onto mine, and I felt my face flush.

"W-We looked it up already," I conceded sheepishly.

They nodded and busied themselves with the desserts.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Sylvia tried.

"No."

_I wish there was._

"But thanks. The dinner was great. I think we should just get goi…"

"Sam!"

My heart skipped a beat, and I was up with a mumbled "Excuse me" before I even realized I was moving. Dean's voice had sounded strained, almost a hiss, and my body responded to the slight trembling at its edges by pumping a rush of adrenaline into my veins.

"Dean?"

I found him in the hallway, staring at a small table completely transfixed. I swept the corridor instinctively, assessing any possible threat, before focusing on my brother.

"What is it?" I urged him.

"It's her," he whispered.

"Who?"

"The girl...the girl in the picture."

I looked at the picture he was pointing to on the table. It was a photo of a birthday party, and Monica was in it surrounded by other kids. I shook my head slightly and returned my gaze to Dean, who squinted in obvious pain. One of his hands shot up to his head, and the other flailed before closing around my right arm in a vice-like grip.

"Is everything alright?"

Sylvia and Mark had appeared at the doorframe and looked at Dean in consternation. I swallowed hard and grabbed Dean's arm with my right hand to close the circle of balancing grip that would keep him on his feet as I talked to them.

"Who is she?" I nodded to the picture.

Sylvia followed my gaze, confused.

"Penny? She's a friend of Monica's. That was her birthday party last month," she stuttered.

"No…" Dean rasped. "No…no, the other one…older."

Sylvia looked at the picture again with a frown.

"You mean… Lilian? She is…_was _Penny's sister."

My head snapped up so fast I almost pulled a muscle.

"_Was_?" I asked.

Beside me, I sensed Dean holding his breath.

"She died a couple of weeks ago," Mark explained.

I breathed out slowly as my brain processed the new information.

"W-what happened?"

"Car accident I think. Her parents took it really bad."

"Yeah," I muttered, "I can imagine. You…uh...You know where they live?"

"Just a few blocks down the street," Sylvia said. "Why?"

"Dean?" a little voice came.

Our attention shifted to Monica, who had come to the hall unnoticed and now stared at Dean with teary eyes.

_Dean had been the one to make her smile..._

Mark had said that Dean looked just like him when he was under the mara's power, and Monica must have remembered that too, because the adoration in her face had turned to fear. Dean let go of me and fought to get a grip. For her, if not for any other reason. But before he had the chance to pull the mask back on, Sylvia had reacted out of instinct and pulled her daughter behind her, so she could block the reason for her distress from her sight.

I think that undid my brother in more than one sense. The fear of feeling exposed when vulnerable, the frustration at not being able to hide his weakness, the feeling of having let those people down for not being the hero they thought –and I _knew_- he was.

Having brought tears to the eyes of an innocent child who until that moment had thought that he belonged there.

None of it showed on his face, though. None. He pulled his lip between his teeth and hesitated, sending a quick apologetic look to Sylvia and then pulling at his reserves by looking back to the floor before crouching before Monica.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, smiling. His voice sounded soft, steady, almost normal. "It's okay, don't be afraid."

She studied him warily.

"Does your head hurt?"

"A little, yeah, but that's…"

"Dad's head hurt all the time."

"Your dad's fine. And I'm alright, I promise." Then noticing the small model car she was clutching, he extended his arm and added, "That's the one you wanted to show me?"

The girl backed away, behind her mother, as if the movement had startled her, and Dean let his hand drop and swallowed hard.

"We should go," I intervened with a rough voice that was foreign to my own ears.

"Yeah," he whispered.

He stood up and suppressed a wince, not completely stable but enough so that he didn't need my assistance. He looked at Mark and Sylvia ruefully, but they weren't pissed. They were just concerned, but concern from strangers had always set Dean on edge.

"Thank you for the dinner, and sorry about this."

"You don't need to…" Sylvia started.

"Take care," Dean smiled his farewell without letting her finish, "Let's go, Sam."

I followed him obediently, shooting a farewell glance at Mark and Sylvia. They seemed uneasy, because they really didn't want us to leave. They really wanted to help Dean, but even if they could, Dean wouldn't have let them.

He walked to the car with long, steady strides, without looking back, and I had to jog to catch up with him. I spared him a fleeting glance, but it was hard to gauge his expression. When we got in the car, I started the engine without saying a word. Dean just rubbed his forehead and leaned against the seat wearily.

"I'm sorry," he breathed after a minute.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," I replied evenly, with a slight shake of my head.

"I lost it in there," he snorted self-derisively. "You know it as well as I do."

I didn't know how to answer him, so I just looked at him sideways. He was massaging his temple and slumped against the car door with an air of dejection.

"She was scared," he mumbled.

"She'll be alright, Dean," I replied, thinking he was talking about Monica.

"No, she…" Dean frowned, in concentration, but I think it only made his headache worse. "I think she was scared, but I can't…I only see her face for a second, I can't grasp it. And there's this…_light _around her. I don't know if she wants something from me, or…" he trailed off and swallowed.

Oh, he was talking about Lilian, then.

"We have to go to talk to her parents."

"We'll go tomorrow"

"No! It has to be now!"

"Dean, it's ten o'clock at night," I reasoned. "We can't just show up on their doorstep out of the blue and ask them about their dead daughter."

Dean clenched his fists and punched the dashboard.

"Dammit, Sam!" he hissed, then brought his hands to his head again and slumped forwards a few inches. "I can't spend another night like this! I can't!"

Heart clenching, I looked at him. I recognized the note of despair in his voice, and it tore me apart. I had barely kept him going after his breakdown at my apartment, and it scared me to no end to think that he could easily return to that place. I had to wonder if I would be able to pull him back from the edge if things got that bad for him again. However, I also knew that I had to make an effort to keep cool, because he was right, he had lost it. But if both of us lost it, the situation would grow to epic and certainly useless proportions in a matter of seconds.

"Listen, we're better than we were. At least we know who she is. That's a start."

I had tried to be encouraging, but I felt like the lamest person on Earth. Dean nodded and straightened a little, but he avoided my gaze, obviously ashamed about the new outburst.

"Sorry," he apologized again. "I don't…I don't know what's happening to me."

I gave his tense shoulder a brief squeeze.

"We'll figure it out."

He gave a sad half-smile and nodded imperceptibly, as he ran a hand through his hair and sighed in quiet resignation. I couldn't let my guard down, though, not while he was so obviously suffering just a few inches from me. I wouldn't have been able to relax even if he had been miles away.

"Why do you think she's been coming to _me_?" he asked softly. I turned my attention to him. "In my dream and with that… Doctor May?"

"I don't know, maybe you two got to meet while you were working the mara case. If she was around Monica's family…"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged.

"So now, if she needs help, she might be trying to contact you?"

"Yeah, maybe."

He sounded depressed, but it was exhaustion speaking. Otherwise, my brother would never have allowed himself to sound overpowered by _anything_, even if he was. It was how our father had taught us to face life, or, well, the way my brother had internalized his lessons. I had long ago given up trying to change him, because learning the more subtle ways in which he did reach out when he needed it had proven far more useful than forcing him to share and care on a regular basis.

I couldn't fix whatever it was that was happening to him. Not yet, at least, although I would get to the bottom of his insomnia, one way or another. What I _could_ do now was work on his exhaustion and in that way gain a little more time until we find our answers.

He wasn't going to like my interference this time either, but that made two of us.

"We're here," I announced.

I parked the car as close to our room as I could get and waited for my brother to follow me. Despite my precautions, the short walk to the door made a shaky mess out of him, and he barely made it inside before his face went ashen and his steps faltered.

"Dean?"

He swallowed and headed to the bathroom with sudden urgency, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Sam," he growled.

"Sit down," I ordered.

"Sam!"

"It's the first real meal you've got into yourself in days, Dean. You need to keep it down," I argued, forcing him to sit down on my bed.

He wanted to object, but all protests were suffocated when his body rebelled and his stomach jumped in a dry heave.

"Sammy..." he pleaded.

"Just try to breathe through it" I shushed, placing a hand on the back of neck and pressing his head down. "You're not sick, just dizzy. That's what's making you nauseous. It's your head, man, not your stomach. It'll pass."

Dean groaned faintly as he heaved again.

"Sam, if I were you, I'd stay clear," he grunted.

"If you were me, you'd be taller."

My brother chortled, which made him groan again, before giving another short-lived laugh.

"Bitch," Dean muttered.

I laughed at that.

"Pansy," I shot back, but I didn't take my hand away and forced him to keep his head down and breathe deeply despite his obvious discomfort. After a minute he stopped swallowing convulsively and dared to exhale through his mouth.

"Better?"

"I hate you."

I enjoyed the little victory in silence but still waited a few seconds just to be sure before letting go of him. When I considered it safe, I went to get some water. Behind me, I heard him take a deep breath and stretch out on the bed. Meeting his eyes as I handed him the water, I gauged his condition and gave him a reassuring smile that he returned with a roll of eyes.

"That was risky, Florence."

"It worked, didn't it?" I shot back, distractedly, as I braced myself for the next step. I went to my bag, retrieved a small pack and walked back to my brother. "Dean, I want you to take these," I mumbled showing him a couple of white pills.

His face tensed immediately, and he eyed the pills suspiciously.

"What are they?"

"One is a sedative, the other is a muscle relaxant, like the ones you took in the hospital. I got them when we went there."

"I don't want them."

"I know."

"I don't need them."

"Yes, you do."

"They _won't_ work, Sam," he growled.

"They'll help you slow down."

"It's not time to slow down! I need to move!"

"No, you need to _stop_, Dean," I countered. "Can you honestly name a single muscle of your body that doesn't hurt right now?"

Dean glared at me in aggravation, then frowned as if in thought. Next he arched an eyebrow at me, and I rolled my eyes.

"Dude, don't even think about that," I warned him, not wanting to hear whatever suggestive remark he was about to make.

Dean smirked, and I let out a sigh, but I didn't let my brother get away with his diversionary tactic.

"Listen, I know you don't like them, okay? But you heard the doctor, your body _needs_ to disconnect or it'll crash. Maybe these won't put you to sleep, but they'll help you loosen up…"

"You mean they'll leave me paralyzed and out of it like a defenseless kitten!"

"You are NOT defenseless!" I exclaimed, "God, you're the strongest person I know, and you've never had a defenseless moment in your life!"

He looked away, lips pursed, and it felt like a punch in the gut. I knew he hated being at the receiving end of my logic, and he was feeling too vulnerable to think clearly. I didn't want him to snap at me, mainly because I wasn't happy about forcing him to take the pills either. They wouldn't put him out, just make him hazy and uncomfortable for the most part. But, I had to be realistic. To say he had been walking around like an arthritic old man would have been too nice; he couldn't even lift a hand without it shaking visibly, and he was obviously finding it hard to keep his head upright. His body was at the very limit of his resistance and unless he got some real physical rest, he could seriously harm himself. The problem was that it wasn't enough for him to just lie down anymore, because after an hour of not being able to get out of his awakened mind, he became stressed and restless.

I hoped that the muscle relaxant would avoid that, at least for a few hours. The sedative, well, it would make him a bit loopy, but it would also numb his mind so that not being able to move wouldn't freak him out.

"Dean," I said on a sigh, "look I…I understand. I wouldn't like it either. But I don't know what else to tell you. This is a hunt now, and you need to be as sharp as you can get. The most I can say is that I'm not going anywhere. You're not defenseless, man, if for no other reason than because I'm not going to let _anything_ happen to you."

Eyes sparkling with an emotion hard to identify, Dean's gaze returned to me. I realized then that I had spoken with such vehemence that memories had been stirred. But I couldn't bring myself to take my words back. If his worst fear was not being able to defend himself, he had to know he wouldn't need to while I was with him. That I would go to any length to protect him, no matter what may decide to come through the door.

Then again, he already knew that.

"Dad could go into hunts without sleeping," Dean grumbled.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, feeling an iron grip squeezing my heart into my throat.

"For a couple of days, maybe."

"For longer," he repeated stubbornly.

"He could go for longer with a littlesleep. A _little_, man, not _none_. You've slept one hour out of the last 288. I think you've got a right to be a bit off your game.

Dean seemed to ponder that for a minute and then smiled.

"Dude, did you just calculate how many hours on the spot?" he mocked. "You're a real geek."

"Bite me." I retorted automatically.

Dean's smile widened momentarily and then dropped when he sadly fixed his eyes on the pills again.

"You'll stay, right?" he said, so low I almost missed it.

I didn't smile, didn't even try to go all "Duh, what do you think?" He wanted a real answer, and I was going to give it to him.

"Yes, I'll stay."

He met my eyes trustingly, and when he reached out and swallowed the pills, something inside me gave. I had a long night of research ahead. Whoever Lilian was, whatever she wanted, I was going to find out and end it. I wouldn't let Dean keep hurting like this.

"This ends tomorrow, Dean," I said fervently.

He looked up at me drowsily and tried to smile, although he barely managed to tug up the corner of his lips.

"Tomorrow?" he slurred, eyes already dropping closed.

"Tomorrow," I repeated, "I promise."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *


	8. Night 13 Part One

* * *

**Hey guys! Sorry, but I'm not gonna be long because I gotta catch a train in 15 minutes. I just wanted to leave it posted **

**Thanks everybody, as usual, and I hope you enjoy the reading!**

* * *

**Chapter ****Eight.**

**Day 13. Part 1**

Tomorrow.

_Sam picked distractedly at the beer bottle's label. His hands were shaking slightly, and he had a giant lump in his throat. Dean had gone out a while ago, but Sam knew he hadn't gone far. Probably out to the car, like many other times. Sam also knew he had to go to him, but every time he thought he was ready to move, his legs turned into rubber and his breath caught. He was frozen, unsteadily walking the thin line between worry and outright panic. It was all he could do to keep himself from falling over the edge._

Tomorrow.

_The following day was going to be Dean's last. In about 30 hours, the hellhounds would come claim their prey. Sam's brother would be dragged to Hell. Hell. The Eternal Fire. A universe of scorching darkness and endless pain. Sam couldn't even begin to envision it, he wouldn't. Because it wasn't' going to happen; he couldn't let it happen. It was as simple as that._

Tomorrow.

_Dean had been hearing the hellhounds for a while now, maybe for the last week. He hadn't told Sam, but the younger brother hadn't failed to notice how he often tensed and listened into the distance, not quite able to hide the fear in his eyes. When it started, he withdrew into himself even more. Maybe he thought that if his walls were high enough, he could fend off the demonic pit bulls; maybe he just wanted to leave Sam out. Probably he just didn't know how to deal anymore, and that lack of control scared him even more than the impending doom._

Tomorrow.

_Sam took a deep, steadying breath and gripped the neck of the beer bottle tightly. It felt cool and moist under his palm. Focusing on its solidity, Sam fought to get a grip as tight as the one his fingers had around the golden bottle, and go to Dean. Maybe for the last time._

_His heart skipped a beat at the thought, and he leaned his head against the closed door. He couldn't think of last times now. He had a mission, and he intended to fulfil it. He needed to keep calm, to be strong. He needed…he needed…_

Dean.

_Swallowing hard, Sam opened the door and stepped outside before he could change his mind. It didn't take long to spot Dean who, as he had expected was close to his beloved car, stretched on the hood with his back against the windshield. To anyone else, he would have looked just like a regular guy enjoying the evening sun after a day on the road. But Sam knew better; he could see right through Dean's apparent calmness and into the tension that clenched his stomach every minute of the day. And he knew that tension existed, because it mirrored his own._

_When Sam got to the car, Dean jumped lightly at the intrusion, as if he hadn't noticed that his brother was approaching until he was too close. Sam wondered if the hellhounds were teasing him at the moment, but –of course- he didn't ask. It was enough for him that once Dean had registered his presence he had relaxed visibly, this time for real. He flashed his little brother a quick smile and then went back to gazing into the distance with an unreadable expression on his face. Sam joined Dean on the hood of the car, sat against the windshield in a way that mimicked his brother, and handed Dean a beer bottle. His brother wordlessly accepted the offering and clanked the bottle against Sam's in recognition._

_They lay there a little while in silence with their shoulders brushing companionably as they sipped their drinks. Sam could feel his heart racing madly, and it wasn't easy to control his nerves. For Dean's sake, though, he steadied his breathing so that it matched his brother's and tried not to think about what he was doing. Especially, he tried not think that this could be the last time he talked to Dean. He tried not to think so that he could just…enjoy the moment._

"_You know," Dean started, breaking the silence, "I would have liked to get over my fear of flying."_

_Sam blinked, completely taken aback by his brother's words. His comment was kind of random, but it was even more unexpected that Dean admitted a weakness. Which, okay, wasn't a secret anymore, but still, they had never openly talked about it._

_However, what made Sam want to throw up was the tone of defeat in his confession. Dean had resigned himself to not having the chance to do anything else, and it was tearing Sam apart that what his brother needed from him wasn't fierce reassurance. The younger man understood; it had been the same all the times that Dean and he had discussed his so-called destiny during the previous year. Although Sam was grateful for Dean's iron conviction that he wouldn't turn dark side, clashing against his brother's denial hadn't been what he needed most times. Most times, he had just wanted Dean to listen to his fears and regrets without trying to convince Sam that those fears and regrets were unfounded._

_Besides, Sam's plan –their last chance- had already begun, and the younger hunter needed to resist the temptation of giving Dean hope. Hope would lead to the necessity of explanations, and that, Sam couldn't do. Not now._

_Not ever._

"_You did good, though, a couple of years ago with the demon on that plane," Sam answered with a light shrug against Dean's arm._

_Dean made a soft sound, half-__assertion half-"whatever", but Sam guessed he appreciated his little brother's efforts._

"_Do you think that in the world of the Djinn…" Dean started again, then licked his lips and reformulated. "I mean, if we had really grown up like that, do you think I'd still be afraid of flying?"_

_Sam didn't completely understand what Dean was trying to say. Maybe he was just musing aloud. What was undeniably true was that if their mother hadn't died and they had indeed grown up like they apparently had in that world of fantasy, their lives would have been very different. They would be very different. And definitely Dean wouldn't be going to Hell. _

_Or maybe__ Dean was just wondering what would have happened if he had stayed in the Djinn world. Sam would have lost his brother in a few days, but Dean, he would have lived a full life there. At least it would have felt like a full life for him which was what mattered. _

_And he still wouldn't be going to Hell._

_Sam bit the inside__ of his cheek and closed his eyes momentarily to prevent tears from coming._

Do you regret it?

"_I don't know," Sam replied softly.__ "But probably you would have been afraid of ghosts. And can you imagine turning into a wuss in front of a spirit instead of shooting the bastard full of rock salt?"_

_Dean chuckled at Sam's words._

"_No, not really," he admitted with a grin._

"_Besides,__ what would your fear of flying have to do with our line of work?"_

"_I don't know. That we get tossed around more often than not?"_

_This time it was Sam's turn to laugh._

"_That kills brain cells, Dean, but I'm sure it doesn't cause acrophobia."_

_Dean slapped Sam's leg __in brotherly aggravation, and Sam's chuckles increased._

"_Smartass."_

_Sam sobered up after a few seconds and sighed, relishing the warmness of his brother's hand, which Dean had left just barely brushing his leg. Dean had always had these kind of gestures, subtle ways of reaching out without falling into a most feared chick flick moment. Sam had learned to understand them and take them for what they were without pushing for more._

"_So, Sammy? What do you want to do tomorrow?" Dean asked, in his best casual tone._

_Casualness hit Sam like a __truck that squeezed his throat in a choking grip and ripped his heart out in a single movement._

"_I- uh…" Sam stammered.__ "I don't know."_

"_What do you say we grab a couple bottles of tequila and get seriously wasted?"_

_Sam swallowed hard just as a sad chuckle emerged from his constricted throat. He knew Dean was joking; he might be scared, and he might want to drown the pain, but he didn't want to spend his last 24 hours tanked._

"_I'd rather not."_

_Dean smiled softly and closed his eyes. Sam's stomach flip-flopped._

"_We could go somewhere," Dean muttered._

"_Where would you like to go?"_

"_I don't know. Close to Bobby's maybe?" he replied._

_It was Sam's turn to shrug. Dean didn't want to go to Bobby's. Not really. He loved the man, but he would prefer just driving away with Sam in the passenger seat until his last breath was drawn. He would go to Bobby's, though. For Sam. So that his little bother could have the seasoned hunter by his side when it all came down._

"_We'll see__," Sam rasped._

_Anyway, it didn't matter anymore. Because if Sam's plan didn't succeed, he would have just taken away his brother's last day on Earth._

_Dean's throat worked as he finished his beer, and the knot in Sam's stomach passed from choking to physically painful. There were so many things they could have done, and so many places they could have gone._

_There were so many things he wanted to tell him. So fucking many._

_Dean tilted his head back against the windshield and gulped. A soft frown had installed itself on his face, and Sam could only push his inner turmoil down for the moment. It wasn't the time to break yet._

"_Are you hungry? We could order in, watch a movie?" Sam offered._

"_Sounds good__," Dean answered._

_His voice was somehow off. Sam straightened up, biting his lip, and looked at his brother intensely, as if he wanted to drink in every single freckle. Sensing his brother's gaze, Dean met Sam's eyes and arched an eyebrow._

"_You alright?"_

_Sam nodded silently and forced himself to tear his eyes from Dean to get off the car. The soft rustle of denim against metal told him Dean was doing the same, but then the sudden sound of glass crashing made his breath catch._

"_Whoa," Dean murmured, wavering in front of the Impala's fender. He reached out to steady himself with a hand on the hood. The broken bottle of beer was in pieces at his feet. "Sam…"_

_Sam was by his side in a heartbeat, hand on his arm._

"_It's okay," he shushed._

_Dean blinked at Sam with glazed eyes. His knees gave way under him, and he would have fallen against the car if Sam hadn't caught him in time, an arm around his waist, to lower him gently to the ground._

"_Sam," Dean repeated._

_His voice held no shadow of fear or pain, and for that Sam was grateful. There was no accusation or resentment either, which was more than he thought he deserved. Dean only sounded confused, but he didn't refuse his brother's hold as he weakly gripped Sam's shirt._

"_Right here," Sam reassured him._

_Dean's body went limp in his brother's arms. Since his head was resting against Sam's chest, the younger brother didn't know the exact moment when he closed his eyes. Sam would; however, always remember the second when the realization dawned on him that he might have heard Dean's last words._

_And those words had been his name._

"_I'm right here, Dean," Sam repeated brokenly, even though he knew Dean wasn't hearing him anymore, "right here."_

_He cradled his brother's body for a minute, fighting against the urge to cry, because it still wasn't the time to break. After a couple of deep, bracing breaths, Sam stood up with Dean in his arms. He was heavy, but the weight was good, grounding. A part of him felt like he would have started to float into the void without his burden._

_Sam carried Dean back to the room and laid him down on his bed. After fumbling a bit with the pillows and blankets in an attempt to make his brother comfortable, Sam squared his shoulders and got to work._

_Sam worked quickly and efficiently, setting around his brother's bed every kind of trap, sigil, protective circle and spell he knew. Anything that could protect him from the hellhounds. In the end, none of those measures would stop them, but they would slow them down a few hours or a few minutes. And he'd take anything he could get. He had been planning this for days, and he knew exactly what to do and where. It was easy to let the hunter in him take over. In a way, it was as if he was looking at himself from outside of his body, walking around setting traps and muttering a steady flow of dead languages without hesitation. As much as he had hated Dean's and their father's way of compartmentalizing and keeping their minds on the hunt without getting carried away by emotions, he realized he was doing exactly the same thing right now and that, somehow, he had come to understand the other two Winchesters a little better._

_By the time he was done working it was dark outside, and the room had become a real fortress. There was only one more thing left to do. Sam turned his attention back to Dean and pursed his lips. He went to him, sat on the bed and ran a gentle hand through his brother's hair; it was then that he noticed his hand had started shaking again. Before he had time to realize it, his vision blurred with tears and he felt like a rock was rolling over his chest. He knew he had to get it together, and he would, because there was no backing down. However, he could allow himself a minute of weakness. Just one. Because Dean was warm and alive next to him. His breathing was even, and his heartbeat steady, and he looked more peaceful than he had in months._

Just a minute. That's all.

_Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Sam leaned into his brother's body and rested his head in the crook of his neck where he deeply breathed in the familiar scent of Dean. He held onto his big brother tightly, practically curled along his side, like when they were little and shared a motel bed. It soothed his nerves and the urge to cry receded a bit, just like it had happened all those other times. He didn't feel like letting go just yet, even if he knew he was clutching at Dean hard enough to leave bruises._

You gotta move, Sam.

_Never had a minute felt so short, but Sam was strong enough to pull himself together at the expense of only a few extra seconds. He didn't stand up right away, though. Instead, he grabbed Dean's face with both hands and looked intensely into his face._

"_I'm gonna save you, Dean. Can you hear me? I won't let you go to Hell," he whispered, "And if I fail, I'll spend every minute of the rest of my life trying to find the way to get your soul back. And if I can't, I.Swear.To.God, I'll go in there and get you out myself."_

_Without thinking twice, Sam took a pair of scissors and cut off a lock of his brother's hair. Then, he rested his forehead against Dean's for a couple of seconds and, finally, he placed a feather-light kiss in his hair as goodbye._

"_You wait for me, huh?" Sam muttered as he stood. "Hang on."_

_He tore his eyes from Dean once and for all, knowing that it would be the only way he would be able to move. Reaching for his phone, he hit the speed dial and spoke as soon as the call went through._

"_Full Moon M__otel, Oregon. Room 134."_

_On that note, he hung up and left the phone on the table, took the keys to the Impala, and exited the room without looking back._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

It was a long night. Unlike the time spent after going to the hospital, Dean settled pretty quickly, probably because there were no prospective CT scans and no strangers around. I stayed close until the worst part of nervousness seeped out of his body, and he allowed himself to sink into the mattress with something resembling ease. Then I sat at the computer to start my research with the little we had learned about Lilian.

The net didn't give me much more. The papers talked about a car accident; apparently the girl had been run over late at night, in a stretch of road on the outskirts of town.

"Sam," Dean called out groggily.

He had done this a few other times in the last two or three hours. As I had expected, the pills had made him pretty out of it and even though he wasn't really asleep, Dean came to with a little jolt now and then. Then he would be confused for a few seconds, although most times he oriented himself pretty quickly once he spotted me in the room.

"Hey," I turned round to him.

And other times, seeing me wasn't enough.

"You alright?" he slurred.

I smiled to myself, because it wasn't hard to follow my brother's logic. He found himself in a random motel bed, mind fogged and barely feeling his own body, and his first thought was that he was living through the aftermath of a hunt. And so, his first concern was me.

"Yes, I'm alright," I reassured him, knowing there was no point in arguing about how he needed to worry a little more about himself. After all, if our situations were reversed he would be my first concern too. "We both are. Get some rest."

Content with the answer, Dean sighed, tried to move, and failed. A little crease appeared at the edges of his frown. As he rolled his head on the pillow, I felt guilty for not foreseeing that he would have been more comfortable lying on his stomach, as he normally did when he wasn't on top of his game. I guessed he felt less vulnerable that way. I didn't even attempt to get him to turn over into the more comfortable position, but the next time he stirred, I covered him with a blanket, trusting the extra weight on him would give him some sense of protection.

I dug in the files for a while longer, but the most I found were a couple of short articles from local press that mentioned Lilian's death. Retrieving the death certificate didn't disclose anything new; Lilian had died from injuries sustained in the accident. A deeper look into the family revealed nothing remarkable, and I had to admit I was running out of ideas.

_A regular restless spirit? If it __had all happened very quickly, she may not know she's dead. Or a vengeful spirit? Does she want Dean to find the driver?_

I casually stumbled over the news of the strange disappearance of a middle aged woman in town. Apparently some weird traces of salt and herbs had been found at her house, but there was no sign of violence or clues about her whereabouts.

_The mara_, I guessed. _What if the two of them were related? Maybe it had fed on Lilian first and somehow transferred part of her essence into her?_

My thoughts forced my attention back to Dean, and I found his eyes open half-mast, fixed on me with an unreadable expression in them. A glance at the clock told me that over five hours had passed.

"Hey," I murmured, noticing the roughness of my voice and realizing for the first time how tired I was, "you alright?"

Dean shrugged half-heartedly. This, among other things, meant that the effects of the muscle relaxant were fading, although it was obvious the sedatives hadn't completely run out of his system yet.

"Did you find anything?" Dean rasped.

"I've got some theories, but we still need to talk to the parents tomorrow."

Dean nodded, and his eyes slipped closed.

"You should get some sleep, Sammy."

I rubbed my eyes with a tired gesture.

"Yeah, you're probably right," I admitted. "Do you need anything?"

Dean shook his head and flipped onto his stomach with movements noticeably slow and heavy, although he didn't seem too concerned. Yep, he definitely wasn't completely with it yet. As soon as he found his new position he sank his head into the pillow and relaxed between lazy blinks. Since the sun wouldn't rise for a few hours, and Dean looked more or less okay as long as I stayed within sight, I decided to power off the computer and try to catch some sleep myself.

I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and found Dean at the table with a couple of cups and a donut box. He smiled at me when he saw I was awake, and I rolled onto my back, surprised that it was already 8 AM.

"Good morning," he greeted me.

"Good morning yourself," I rasped. "Have you been up for a while?"

"Nah, not really. Went for breakfast, though."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said cautiously, as I joined him at the table.

"It's only my second," Dean said, indicating his cup of coffee with a careful shake and putting his hand to his heart like a boy scout. "I promise."

I huffed a laugh and sat down, accepting the cup he offered. I couldn't stop marvelling at how he could anticipate my thoughts even before they blossomed to conscious thought in my mind.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," Dean replied.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He sounded honest, looked alert; he even moved easier. I felt a little guilty for not waking up when he had. But he didn't seem affronted in the slightest so I guessed it was better to let the guilt go, just as it was better to let go how hard the night could or could not have been on him.

"You turned in pretty late," Dean commented, giving me a quick once-over. "Did you find out anything?"

His quick deflection of attention did nothing but reinforce my point. While we went through our breakfast, I explained what I had found out about Lilian and the few theories that were bouncing around inside my head. I didn't fail to notice he ate less than I did, but it was more than he managed the day before, so I was satisfied.

"Well, I guess the parents will be able to tell us more," he agreed. "We'd better go."

In my opinion it was still a little early, but I didn't have the heart to restrain him this time. He was eager to find answers, and I had promised both him and myself to do just that.

"Have you thought up a story for us?" he asked.

"Yeah," I gave a small shrug. "I think it would be best to go with a certain measure of truth, at least this time."

"But only this _one_ time, right?" Dean said, in fake horror.

I slapped him in the arm as I rose.

"Don't be an ass," I censured him, although I was grateful that he was in a good mood, or at least close enough to his old self to fake it for my sake.

We got moving. I had gotten the house address from the Internet, and it didn't seem like the place would be hard to find. Once in the car, when the Impala purred into life, I admit I started to believe that we would find a way to make our way out of this mess.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Lilian's house was a nice two story building, with a front yard of carefully mown lawn. The cheerful chirping of birds broke the quiet of the morning and went a long way to soothing my nerves. I breathed in the peace of that place before disturbing it by ringing the doorbell. Dean was standing by my side with an expression of deep focus.

A woman in her early forties opened the door and studied us warily. Or rather, wearily. I had to suppress a shiver at the dull, exhausted sadness in her eyes. I had no doubt that she was Lilian's mother, since only her kind of loss could turn the bright morning behind us into a grey landscape of sorrow.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

I recovered instantly and took the lead since, as Dean often said, I was better at the sharing and caring with strangers, while he was the excellent conman of all other sorts.

"Ms. Lambert? Hi," I greeted. "I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. We're friends of the Sullivan's, down the street..."

"Yes, I know them," she said, and then her eyes widened in alarm. "Nothing's happened to them, has it?"

"No, no, no," I reassured quickly, while internally kicking myself. It was only natural that she was edgy about sudden calls in the middle of the night or unexpected visitors knocking at her door in the early morning. "They're very well."

"Thank God." The woman gave a soft smile. "It was pretty touch and go with Mark for a while."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. I glanced at Dean, who looked away. "The thing is, we were having dinner with them last night, and they told us about your daughter, so we thought we'd drop by and express our condolences. We're so sorry for your loss," I finished awkwardly.

Mrs. Lambert, who had remained silent while I spilled out the words, looked down and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Thank you. You're very kind," she murmured.

A wave of guilt washed over me. It was plain cruel to make her relive the terrible event, even though I suspected she didn't spend a single minute without thinking about it herself. I glanced at Dean again, and his eyes were now fixed on Lilian's mother's face in quiet compassion.

My resolve strengthened.

"Monica talked a lot about your other daughter, Penny," I added after clearing my throat. Then I showed her the bag we had brought. "We brought her a little something. Do you think we could come in?"

Mrs. Lambert looked at the bag from the toy store and hesitated for a few seconds. When my honest-to-God expression didn't waver, she eventually gave in.

"Sure," she said, nodding.

After exchanging a quick glance with each other, Dean and I followed her inside. As she showed us to the living room, she called out for Penny, who came in with her head bowed. The girl stopped dead in her tracks when she saw us.

"Come here, sweetheart. This is Sam and Dean. They're friends of the Sullivan's. They've brought a present for you," she coaxed.

Penny looked at her mother and then stared at us. The poor child looked tired and sad, as if she had spent too many hours crying in the last few days. Just like her mother. Beside me, Dean's face softened, and his whole frame relaxed. I turned to him, ready to relinquish the bag to him and watch him work his magic with children, but in the last moment he seemed to change his mind and didn't intervene.

I think he had remembered Monica and how scared she had been the previous night.

After some more coaxing from her mother, Penny finally came closer, and I held out the bag for her. She took it timidly and flashed me a polite smile before retreating to the couch and opening the parcel. It was a toy horse and in any other circumstance Dean would have laughed his ass off at me for "knowing" the toy to buy for little girl. However, the smile that blossomed on Penny's face was worth whatever harassment he was up to doling out to me later.

"Penny? What do we say?" her mother chided kindly.

"Thank you," Penny murmured, looking up.

She was still wearing that soft, quiet smile that said more than a blinding grin. It warmed my heart. Mrs. Lambert also shot us a grateful look before speaking again.

"I'll make some coffee. Please take a seat," she said, then addressed her daughter. "Honey, go play in your room, okay?"

"Yes, Mommy."

We sat on the couch while Mrs. Lambert arranged the coffee cups, and Penny gathered her new toy and its box to go to her room. But before leaving, the girl stepped forward and gave each of us an unexpected hug. After that, she trotted out of the room. Dean and I looked to each other in silence and let unspoken words flow between us. It certainly wasn't just about us anymore, but also about that family.

_But you're first,_ I promised him silently._ You come first, before anything._

Penny's mother came back carrying a tray loaded with coffee and cookies. She placed it on the coffee table and then sat with us. We thanked her, and she picked distractedly at a little piece of wrapping paper that had been left on the floor.

"It's been very hard for her. You've been very kind."

"It was nothing, really. I can't imagine what you're going through," I empathized. "Silvia told us it was an accident…"

"She was hit," she countered vehemently, "by a car."

I bit my lip and looked at Dean, who met my eyes with a blank expression.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "What happened?"

She sipped her coffee, and I noticed that her hands were trembling. When she grimaced and reached for the sugar, I was faster and served her.

"It happened out of town," she started with restrained tone, "a couple miles down Mill's Road. It was dark, probably around 1 AM. They couldn't say exactly, and she was coming home…." Her voice shook, and she had to put her cup back on the table before she spilled it.

"What do you mean they couldn't say?" I prodded when she trailed off.

"We didn't find her until the next morning," she said, as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

Dean closed his eyes and set his jaw. I was appalled.

"But…but the driver…"

"The driver drove off. The police never found him."

The woman's pain was so palpable it stole the air from my lungs. I looked at Dean again -just because- and he seemed as stunned as I was.

"We…we're so sorry," I repeated uselessly. "We didn't know."

"I thought she was home, you know?" she sobbed. "We called the police when she didn't show up for breakfast…at nine. _Nine_."

Clumsily trying to provide comfort, I squeezed her arm, but I was at a loss. It wasn't the first victim that had broken down on us while we were interrogating them, but I would never get used to it. Without being asked, Dean got up and brought her a glass of water, which she accepted.

"I'm sorry. I…I've been trying not to cry in front of Penny, but…"

"It's alright. We understand."

"They found her a few hours later in a ditch half covered by the bushes. Doctors said she had died instantly, because of the impact. At least…at least I have the comfort of knowing that she didn't suffer."

I nodded, honestly happy to hear that. I didn't want to imagine the agony of a poor girl, dying for hours alone in the dark.

"I'm sure she didn't," I said reassuringly, just because it was what she needed to hear.

"She shouldn't have been out there," the woman said, wiping her tears away.

"What was she doing?"

"There was this party next to the old mill. Her friends were going, but we told her no. Then she did what any pre-teen would have done. She just sneaked out. And when she wanted to come back, she had to walk all the way home. I can't stop thinking that if we had let her go to the party, then she could have just called, and George or I would have gone to pick her up…"

"Don't," Dean chimed in. "Don't do that."

His voice was soft. Gentle, but firm. I looked at him, surprised to hear him talk, since he had remained basically silent since we had come in. Lilian's mother turned to him too.

"All the 'what if's' won't help. They won't take you anywhere," he said, without tearing his eyes from hers, "and they won't bring her back."

They stared into each other's eyes for several seconds, and it looked as if some level of understanding was passing between them.

"You've lost someone, haven't you?" she asked with a gentle voice.

"Yes, Ma'am," Dean whispered. Then he glanced at me for a second longer than usual. "We both have."

My throat tightened, and I had to look away.

"And how do you get over it?"

Dean licked his lips and looked down.

"You don't," he said simply. "Not really. You keep thinking about them, and you still miss them every day. You just… I guess that you just come to _accept_ trying to live without them. You move on."

Well aware of the irony of the situation, I swallowed and studied my brother.

"And does it work?" she asked.

"Sometimes," Dean said, nodding and returning my gaze. "Most of the time."

_Except when it touches you or me._

She smiled sadly and nodded at Dean.

"I really hope so." She looked at both of us, "Thanks. Thank you both for coming and for your kind words."

I smiled weakly, recognizing that the conversation was over.

"Thank you for having us and for this excellent coffee."

Dean clapped me on the arm and stood. I followed him, and she rose too.

"Just one more thing, Ma'am," I said at the door. I hesitated, knowing my next request would sound strange, but still needing more information. "We'd like to go pay our respects to your daughter. Could you tell us where she's buried?"

Lilian's mother looked surprised and a little shocked that two veritable strangers would go through such lengths for her daughter.

"Please," Dean said, and there was something in his voice that I recognized as heartfelt need. "Please, it would mean a lot to us."

She hesitated for a moment, then studied Dean's face. I followed her gaze and was surprised to see he looked grief-stricken. Again, a moment of understanding passed between them, and finally she shook her head.

"Lilian was cremated. We spread her ashes in White Pine Hill a week ago."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_It was an old legend from Catalonia in the north-east of Spain,__ one whose essence had survived for centuries in the form of a popular tale. It spoke of a man who had made a deal with Satan to save his daughter in exchange for his soul which would be collected a year later. Exactly one year later, that was the key. Should Satan fail to claim what was rightfully his in the 24 hours of the appointed day, the deal lapsed. In effect, the contract was off._

_In the legend, the man who had sold his soul managed to fool Satan into claiming another man's soul instead of his when the deal came due. Since Satan had no right over that second man's soul, and since it was too late when he realized he hadn't claimed the correct one, the deal was defunct. Both men were saved, and everyone lived happily ever after._

_Currently the legend was a popular Christmas play performed by children. _

_Regardless, Sam had held onto the story as the lifeline he desperately needed. The coincidences were too many to ignore, and he knew better than anyone that most legends held their share of truth, at least in their origins. He narrowed his search to focus on the possibility of fooling a demon into breaking the deal. He found enough sources that confirmed the basics, that a soul could only be claimed on the appointed day, not before and not later._

_So the question was how to hold Hell up long enough to allow the day and the contract to expire._

_The first problem was that there wasn't a "Satan" coming for Dean that could be easily fooled or entertained. All demons appeared to know who Dean and he were, and besides, it was hellhounds that were coming after Sam's brother. They never lost the trail of the soul they had been ordered to rip out of its body. Once they caught the scent, the unfortunate victim was as good as dead._

_Unless…_

_The idea started forming in Sam's head slowly, before he was completely aware of it. He had heard of some hoodoo that could capture a person's essence. If he could do that, he could try to leave a false trail that would keep the hellhounds away from Dean._

_But for how long?_

_Hellhounds wouldn't be dragged away by the first thing Sam could come up with, not for long. Eventually, it would only be a living soul that would attract them. And unfortunately, hellhounds weren't Satan and they wouldn't stop when they realized that, whoever that person was, it wasn't the one they were supposed to take. Even if, in the end, rules didn't let them keep the ripped soul, its owner would already be dead, because that was how things usually worked outside of tales. Villains shot first and asked questions later._

_Now, Sam would have been more than happy to be the necessary distraction, but Bobby was right. If Sam didn't make it, then neither would Dean. His older brother had already proven that, so Sam was left with only one option._

_Why couldn't Bobby see that?_

You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you…

_The moment Sam made the decision, all horror over it was pushed aside. His conscience dulled and hid past a simple mantra. That Dean was first. That he could still save him. That it didn't matter what it took. At times, a heart-clenching wave of fear paralyzed him, but it wasn't because of what he was going to do, but because of the little doubt rising within him._

For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it scares me sometimes…

_The concoction he had slipped into Dean's drink would keep him unconscious until everything was over, for good or for bad. His vital force should be diminished; luckily he wouldn't shine like a beacon now. Sam had spent the last 24 hours preparing the swindle. At every stop a little fortress, with every false trail a trap that should detain the hellhounds for a little longer. He had it all meticulously planned and didn't budge from the schedule. Stubborn keeping to the plan was too important, and he was too good of a hunter to leave anything to chance._

_It was evening now, just a few hours from the appointed time. Sam entered the gloomy bar and promptly spotted the man he was looking for slumped at the bar, nursing a beer. He had long, messy blond hair, and small blue eyes that barely shined in a face marred by scars. He was young, Dean's age, but he looked older. His mouth was drawn in a derisive snarl towards the world, and he wasn't bothered enough to hide the skull tattoo he had gotten in prison._

_Sam had read some of Anne Rice's Vampires Chronicles; Jess had them. Still, he hadn't pictured himself seeking out the "evil doer". After all he had seen and done, Sam wouldn't dream of judging anyone except himself. He wanted to be as objective as possible. And methodical, or he would most likely break. _

_The guy__ he studied now had more or less Dean's complexion, had lived in and out of prison for years. Most likely he had killed someone. But what was most important was that he had no family or friends; no one would miss him. He was the best possible choice for Sam's plan, because if Sam was going to put another person's life on the line—and God help him, he was about to do just that—he would do everything he could to protect them. But if he failed, there was no need to ruin the existence of other's too._

_Sam went to the bar and sat on the stool next to the man. As he signalled the barman for a beer, the man fixed him with a mocking look._

"_Hey, you came. I didn't think you would." He chuckled, chugging his beer._

"_Why shouldn't I__?" Sam countered distractedly. "You still up to doing this?"_

_The man chortled._

"_You kiddin'? Easiest cash I've made in my life!"_

_Sam shook his head imperceptibly. He had told the man everything, _everything_, because it was the only way to make it all a little more fair. But of course the guy hadn't believed him. He probably thought Sam was a nut job with a bunch of green and a weird kink. Given the circumstances, it probably seemed easy to him to play along and take the money._

_Sam guessed he was okay with that. There were only so many times he could try to convince the man of the dangers, and Sam had too much to lose. He also knew his bait was of the skittish kind. Among other things, he hadn't failed to notice the gun the guy kept under his worn jacket. One false move on Sam's part, and both of them would be screwed._

_Sam glanced at his watch__, took a little glass bottle out of his pocket and put it on the bar along with an envelope that he pushed towards the man. The guy peeked into the envelope, and his eyes lightened greedily, before he looked at the bottle and then at Sam._

"_And how do I know you ain't gonna poison me, dude? Or roofie me or whatever?"_

_Sam let out a bitter laugh and drank half of his beer in one gulp._

"_No offense, _dude_, but why the fuck would I want to roofie you?"_

_The man shrugged non-committally and studied the bottle. Sam swallowed, well aware that nobody in his right mind would accept the deal and drink some unknown concoction from a stranger that blabbed about demons and hell for a few grand. But this guy was obviously the type that just might, one lured naturally towards easy money, with nothing to lose and a smug over-confidence in his luck and his gun._

"_So, you want the money or not?" Sam muttered coldly._

_The man__ pondered the question for a few seconds before finally meeting Sam's eyes._

"_If you try any__thing weird, I swear it'll be the last thing you'll do, man."_

"_Fair enough__."_

"_A__lright then, give me that shit." The guy reached for the bottle, uncapped and downed it in one go. "Oh, gross," he gasped out, grimacing and then washing the taste away by finishing his drink. "What was in that!?" he grumbled._

_Sam just stared in silence. His heart had started pounding. With a shaking hand, he passed the envelope to the man, who took it and quickly tucked it inside his pocket. Then Sam breathed out, slowly, and the ringing in his ears subsided. An eerie sensation of calm, of purpose, washed over him. Hearing his own, even voice was like hearing someone outside of himself talk._

"_Alright, let's go," h__e ordered, leaving a couple of twenties on the counter to pay for their drinks._

_The man arched an eyebrow in a malicious way._

"_I could ditch you right now, you know. I already have the money. Why should I follow you?"_

_Sam's expression didn't waver._

"_Because __you'll be dead in 24 hours if you don't."_

* * *

**TBC**


	9. Night 13 Part Two

**Okay, there we go again. Thank you guys for your patience and for sticking with me, despite how I am torturing and twisting our poor guys.**

**And thanks, Em. I knew you would have seen it coming ;-)**

**Quick note...please don't kill me after this! ****There's still more to come **

**

* * *

  
**

**Chapter Nine.**

**Day 13. Part 2**

_Sam drove them out of the little town while the punk chattered non-stop about how crazy Sam was, about how he wasn't scared since he had met crazier weirdos at 'crowbar hotel', about how cool the Impala was…_

Don't talk about the car.

_As a matter of fact, don't talk about anything, Sam wanted to shout. He wasn't interested in the man's life; he didn't want to know him. Damn, he couldn't allow himself to care._

_About an hour later, they got to the warehouse Sam had prepared. Sam parked, got a bag from the trunk, and herded the man inside without a word. The guy acceded to follow the young Winchester, although warily and with a hand hovering close to his gun. Sam found himself smiling caustically. So in this guy's head, the warehouse was the place where Sam intended to jump him? But surely the guy must have already noticed that whatever he had drunk wasn't drugs, right?_

_If Dean's room had been turned into a fortress against the supernatural, the warehouse was close behind. Devil's traps were strategically placed in between protective patterns made of salt and a hoodoo mix of herbs. The walls were carved with sigils and as soon as Sam got in, he dropped the bag and started lighting the candles he had left ready. The man looked around and then stared at Sam suspiciously._

"_What the fuck, dude? Are you serious? You're more of a whacko than I thought," he hissed._

_Sam ignored the remark and spoke without turning._

"_There's a toilet in back. If you need to use it, I suggest you go now."_

_The man said something garbled under his breath and headed the way Sam had pointed. Sam noticed he was keeping himself as far away as possible. By the time he was back, Sam had finished lighting the candles and was barring the sole door with consecrated iron bars._

"_What are you doing? You planning on keeping us in here?"_

"_Actually, I'm planning on keeping _them_ out there."_

"_Oh, right, yeah, the…hell dogs that will be coming for me," the guy said, snarling. "Tell me something, you do this often? Because I've seen all kinda fucked up kinks, dude, but this is a real something…"_

_Sam took a deep breath and wished he could just knock the guy unconscious for the next day. Unfortunately, if things got ugly they might need to move, and so he needed him awake._

_After barring the door, Sam made a final look around and exhaled. His eyes flickered over his bait, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the dusty floor with a disgusted grimace on his face. Another glance at his watch told Sam it was almost midnight. Anticipation started to pound through his veins, but he made a conscious effort to restrain it. He'd have to keep it together and be ready to react for longer than an adrenaline rush would allow._

_He went to the corner and came back with a chair that he placed in the middle of a circle of black powder and under a pattern of Devil's Shoestrings hanging from the ceiling. It was the most protected corner of the room, and the best chance for his bait's security._

"_Sit down," Sam ordered quietly._

_Without waiting to see if the guy obeyed, he went to get another chair for himself. He was glad when he saw the guy had actually done what he was told and was sitting inside the circle. Sam placed his chair closer to the door, between the entrance and the circle._

_Then the alarm on his watch went off, causing the man to jump and Sam's heart to slam against his ribcage._

Dean…

_Sam silenced his watch and turned to the man._

"_Ok, I need you to listen to me, and listen to me real carefully," Sam said, enunciating each word gravely. "From this moment on, you are not getting out of that circle under any circumstances. At least, not until I tell you to."_

"_You're kidding, right?"_

"_No, no kidding."_

"_Are you telling me that you expect me to sit here for a whole day because…the big bad wolf will come chew my ass if I don't?"_

"_No, I'm saying you are gonna sit there for a whole day, because I've paid you damn well enough to do that. Now, are we clear?"_

"_You're nuts, dude."_

"Are_. We. Clear?"_

"_Yeah, whatever." The man huffed and sat back on his chair with a bored expression. "You coulda at least brought a more comfortable chair."_

_Sam shook his head and sat down as well, pulling a shotgun from his duffle bag and putting it on his knees._

"_Whoa, whoa," the man grunted, standing up and reaching under his jacket. "What's that for?"_

"_Nothing you need to worry about."_

"_Right, and you think I'm gonna just sit here while a nutcase waves a shotgun at me."_

"_I don't care if you're sitting or not, man, as long as you stay in the circle. And about this…" he waved the shotgun, and then left it on the floor next to him. "It's not for you, so chill."_

_The man clicked his tongue and paced around the delimited area, careful not to give Sam his back._

"_Hey, you hungry?" Sam called._

_The man turned his attention to him, in time to catch the fast-food bag Sam threw him, and sniffed the contents._

"_No mojo?"_

"_No mojo."_

_The man examined the bag for a few seconds more and finally seemed to make up his mind, because he sat back down with a shrug and started to wolf down his dinner. Sam sighed and stretched his neck. It was going to be a long night._

_Fortunately the man spent most of it actually sleeping, sprawled awkwardly on the chair. Maybe the beers he had had at the bar helped, but Sam wasn't about to complain. Unlike his companion, Sam spent the night pacing up and down in a constant struggle to keep anxiety at bay. A couple of caffeine pills kept him alert, although they didn't exactly help keep him calm. His attempt at coolness was all his doing and the doing of years and years of training and action under pressure._

_It didn't mean that every minute he spent away from Dean on the day the contract ended didn't felt like a kick in the gut. He hated being in the dark; it was frustrating and exasperating, but he was on his own and had no way of knowing what was going on outside the warehouse walls. And so for hours the only thing that kept him sane was the ingrained belief that if something had happened, Bobby would have called._

_The man woke up late in the morning, after a particularly loud snore, to find Sam's weary eyes on him. He grunted and scrubbed his face, taking a while to get his bearings. When he finally looked at Sam, he let out a disgruntled groan and rolled his eyes._

"_Oh, crap. I thought you were just a nightmare."_

"_Sorry about that," Sam said in a rasping voice._

_The man stood to stretch and was about to step over the circle._

"_Watch out," Sam warned coldly._

_The man's steps faltered as he remembered. He sighed impatiently._

"_Whatever. So I can't even go to the john?"_

"_We already talked about this."_

"_Dude, this sucks, you know?"_

"_Well, think about the money."_

"_Of course I'm thinking about the money. You think I'm doing this 'cause I like you?"_

"_I wouldn't dream of it."_

"_You look like shit, by the way. Did you sleep at all?"_

"_What do you care?"_

"_If what you've been doing is getting off watching me sleep, then I care. 'Cause that's sick."_

"_Then you can rest assured."_

"_So, I don't imagine you've got anything to eat…"_

_Sam took out a paper bag from the duffle and passed it over._

"_Wow, you're a dude of resources."_

"_Shut up and eat."_

If anything had happened, Bobby would have called…

_They spent most of the day like that. Sam had brought enough supplies so that they wouldn't be hungry and had only to keep the candles lit and keep watch. Despite Sam barely paying attention to him, the man chattered almost incessantly. In the afternoon, he rolled himself a joint. Sam studied him for a few seconds and considered stopping him, because as hours passed the danger grew. He didn't want to risk having to drag the guy's doped up ass to safety. Then again, he'd been annoying as hell, but basically compliant and had followed all his weird instructions so far. The day must be wearing on him too, so why not? Besides it might shut him up…_

_Damn, the way he was feeling, he could actually use a couple drags himself._

If anything had happened, he would have called…

_The man fell asleep after smoking, and Sam allowed himself to close his eyes and bury his face into his hands for a few seconds. Rubbing his temples, he exhaled and tried to relax, but the time passed too slowly and the wait was killing him. He took out his cell and rolled it in his palm, pensively. He only had to call to ease his nerves._

_But what if Bobby hadn't paid attention to his message? He didn't agree with Sam and had made that very clear. Then again, his problem was with Sam, not Dean. Surely he wouldn't refuse to keep an eye on Dean. Yeah, Sam was sure about that._

_His thumb fiddled with the cell buttons. One call, and he'd know. Then he gritted his teeth and put the cell back in his pocket. He blinked back the sting of tears that would hinder his reaction time, should the need arise. The truth was that he didn't want to know. As long as he believed Dean was alive, he could convince himself there was still hope. And it was only hope that was keeping him fighting._

_The punk woke up a few hours later with a start that made Sam jump. Disoriented, the man squinted in the dim light the candles offered, and his ragged breath sounded loud in the eerie silence. Vaguely wondering if he had had a nightmare, something which was totally feasible given the haunted shine of the dude's eyes, Sam arched an eyebrow at him._

_Maybe it was just the weed._

"_Dude," the man gasped, "you didn't tell me there were wolves around."_

_Sam's pulse quickened, and his stomach somersaulted._

"_Wolves?"_

"_What are you deaf?"_

"_Are you hearing them? Now?"_

_The man fixed Sam with a look that very clearly conveyed his thought that Sam wasn't only deaf, but clearly dense as well. Sam took it as the answer it was. With his heart lodged in his throat and his shotgun in hand, Sam bolted to the door despite knowing he wouldn't be able to see anything._

"_What the fuck's going on?" the man inquired, obviously alarmed by Sam's behaviour._

_Sam barely spared him a glance, too concentrated on getting some kind of control over the situation. The hellhounds were there, and suddenly the only two thoughts he was able to concentrate on were _Too soon_ and _Dean's still alive_._

_The lights of the candles fluttered and even if Sam couldn't see or hear the demonic pitbulls, he did sense the minute commotion that seemed to shake the foundations of the building._

"_They're frigging howling now!" the man exclaimed and covered his ears. "Why are they howling?"_

Because they found us_, Sam thought, clutching the shotgun fiercely._

"_Hey!"_

_Sam turned to the man and scowled at him._

"_Dammit, stay in the circle!" the young Winchester hissed._

_The man glanced at the powder line, which was dangerously close to his feet, and stepped back, all the while glaring at Sam._

"_I don't like this, man," he grumbled._

_Sam closed his eyes._

"_Well that makes two of us," he mumbled._

_Another commotion, and this time the ground physically vibrated. The man spread his arms to keep his balance and looked around wide-eyed._

"_What the fuck was that!?" he shrieked._

_Sam stepped away from the wall and swallowed hard as he performed a mental inventory of the protections he had laid out._

Focus, Sam, focus…

"_They're leaving."_

_Sam turned to his bait so fast he almost gave himself whiplash._

"_Come again?"_

"_They've shut up, dude. I think they're leaving."_

_Sam took a deep breath and glanced at the door again. No, the hellhounds weren't leaving. They wouldn't, not when they had finally found their prey…_

"_They're not," Sam whispered. "They're looking for a way in."_

"_The hell dogs?"_

"_Hellhounds."_

_The man's expression was something to see. All smugness was gone, replaced now by anger. By fear. Because he obviously hadn't believed Sam's story, and it was only now that he was starting to realize what he had gotten himself into. _

"_But they won't get in," Sam assured, being able to read all the emotions flailing their way across the man's face. "I'm ready to stop them."_

"_Fuck you," the man blurted._

_But he sat back down, skittish like a deer that could smell the lions and so tense he seemed made of coiled wire. Sam couldn't relax either, too attentive to any sound or flicker of light. He felt watched, studied by dozens of animalistic eyes in search of a weak spot to jump at. But Sam shoved the feeling away, because there was no time for him to be second guessing himself._

I'm ready to stop them…

_The next couple of hours ticked by in mounting tension. The man sometimes heard the hellhounds again, coming from different directions, but never for long. Sam guessed they were only playing with them so that they'd get nervous and make a mistake. The worst part was that the hounds were succeeding with the whole 'make-them-nervous' plan, because his companion was becoming a total wreck. Pale and fidgety, he had dropped any attempt to make fun of Sam and his mental problems and ranged from scared to hostile every time a new howl pierced his ears._

"_Ok, you know what? This is enough," The man growled menacingly._

_Sam turned from his position at the door and glanced at him._

_"It should be over soon," the hunter said._

_The man gritted his teeth, but then grimaced in what Sam had learned to identify as his 'Hellhound-getting-closer' face and covered his ears._

"_No, not soon," the man roared. "I'm out of here now. You can stick your damn money up your…"_

"_I'm afraid you can't do that."_

"_Oh, yeah? And who's gonna stop me?"_

_Letting the tension get the better of him, Sam clenched his fists and faced the man._

"_I will if I have to. And you know why? Because if I don't, they will, and I can tell you're not gonna like that."_

"_And why should I believe you!"_

"_Because so far every fucking thing I've told you has turned out to be true!"_

_A sudden slam at the door drowned Sam's growl, and they both turned abruptly at the sound._

"_What the…"_

_Another slam reverberated through the whole building, and the door rattled in its frame._

Oh, God.

_The teasing was over. Hell was running out of time, and it was determined to come in even if it meant ramming against the barred door. Sam wiped away the layer of sweat that shone on his forehead and steadied his grip on the shotgun. It would take a while for the hellhounds to break the door, because although they were strong enough to tear it down in a single lunge, the consecrated iron would hinder their charges._

"_They're here…they're gonna come in!" the man shrieked._

"_Just stay in the circle, man"_

"_Fuck you, and fuck your circle!"_

_Before Sam had time to react, the guy pulled out his gun and pointed it at him with shaky hands._

"_What are you doing?" Sam asked cautiously, very much aware of the crazed, panicky look in the man's eyes._

"_I'm getting out."_

"_Yeah, right. Well that's very clever, considering they're right outside."_

"_I'll blow their fucking heads off if they come anywhere near me!" the man hissed._

_The message that Sam's head was also on the guy's list of things to blow off should he try to get in the way, reached the hunter loud and clear._

"_You can't kill them with bullets," Sam said evenly._

"_Says who?"_

_A particularly loud slam made the man jump and eye the door in fright. By the time his gaze was back on Sam, the hunter had taken out his own gun and had it aimed at him unwaveringly._

"_Says me."_

_The man scowled at him and spit venomously._

"_You've turned me into hellhound chow. Why?"_

"_Because it was the only thing I could do," Sam admitted._

"_But they won't try to get you."_

_Sam gulped bitterly._

"_No, they won't."_

"_Then why! And why me?"_

"_It's never been about you. Or me." Sam shook his head. "And I'm sorry, but I told you I'd protect you, and I will. Just put the gun down."_

"_Like hell I will."_

_The door vibrated on its hinges. The ramming was becoming more brutal, desperate. Sam's attention was divided between the door and the gun that was aimed at him, and he couldn't allow his attention to be split. He made a quick decision and, without taking his eyes off the man, put down his own gun._

"_Look, I'm not gonna shoot you, alright? Believe it or not, I don't want you dead."_

"_Too bad," the man snarled, "'cause right now, I can't say the same thing about you."_

_The explosion shoved Sam backwards, sudden and painful. His back collided with the wall, and when his vision blackened and swam, he vaguely registered he had hit his head. For a second he was sure the man had shot him. But when he realized he didn't hurt anywhere specific, he willed his mind to clear and his vision to focus._

_He quickly checked on the man. The guy was frozen, his eyes were locked on a particular spot, and his face was completely distorted in horror. Sam followed his line of sight, but he saw nothing. It was then that he realized the door was burst open._

"_Don't come any closer," the man rasped._

_Sam scrambled to his feet and walked cautiously towards him. The man wasn't aiming at him anymore, but at the empty space. Sam aimed the shotgun blindly, mimicking the guy's movements in order to find the target._

"_Where is it?" he whispered._

"_Right in front of me," the man answered._

"_How many?"_

"_Just one, dude. There's only one." The man almost laughed hysterically._

"_Ok, don't move."_

"_But it's only one. I can take it down."_

"_No, you can't. Just stay where you are."_

"_It's not moving. It's not even by the door. I can get out!"_

"_It would jump you the second you tried."_

"_But, dude, it's not trying to attack or anything…"_

"_Because it can't attack you where you are. That's why it's trying to lure you out."_

_The man shuffled his feet, and kept his gun firmly aimed at the hellhound only he was seeing._

"_No. I told you don't come any closer," the man warned. "No!"_

_The man shot and scrambled back._

"_Dude, it's not stopping." The man stepped back further. "Dude, It's. Not. Stopping!"_

"_Don't move!"_

_But the man was freaking out, even more so now when the hellhound kept advancing after he had emptied the clip into it. Sam stepped inside the circle and grabbed the man's arm just when he was about to jump over the line and run._

_What he didn't expect was the punch. And after years of dealing with panicked victims, he really should have known better. It was rushed, sloppy, and didn't hold enough force to take Sam down. But it did make him lose the grip he had on the guy, and the next thing he knew the man was off and running like a madman._

"_No!" Sam shouted. "Stay in the circle! NO!"_

_Sam fired blindly at the empty space around the man in a desperate attempt to stop the unstoppable. The guy went down before even reaching the door, kicking and screaming. Sam jumped towards him, tried to drag him back to safety, but his screams were deafening, and something extraordinarily powerful was pinning him down. Soon, there was blood everywhere, and Sam was helpless to stop it._

"_No," he mumbled. "No."_

_When the man fell silent, the hellhounds howled. This time Sam could hear them, and he sensed their rage. They knew…_

No.

_His watch alarm went off. It was a minute past midnight._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Keeping an eye out for signs that would guide me to the road Ms. Lambert had given us directions for, I drove the Impala slowly through the streets of town. It was a nice, clear afternoon, and only a few clouds crossed the sky in their lazy, heavy pace. We had stopped for a light lunch after leaving the Lamberts', although both our stomachs were in knots, and we'd barely managed to swallow down our sandwiches.

Lilian's mother's testimony had shed both light and more darkness onto the story. We knew who the girl tormenting my brother was and also how she had died. However, I wasn't sure how we were going to finish her. I glanced at Dean, who observed the passing scenery with an attentive frown, and I thought that I may as well talk to him. So far I had irrationally tried to protect him, but I missed bouncing around ideas with him. He wasn't at his best, but I shouldn't forget he was, by far, the best hunter in the country.

"So, what do you think?" I asked. "Vengeful spirit?"

Dean blinked without changing his expression and answered evenly.

"It would seem so. Although she hasn't really tried to hurt anybody yet."

I rolled my eyes and wisely chose not to comment on that.

"Her mother said she was burned," I started instead, voicing my main concern.

"Yeah." Dean rubbed his neck. "Not the first time that's happened, though. We'll just have to find the thing that's binding her here."

"I know," I said, nodding. "I'm just saying it could be anything. It's gonna be a bitch to find out what."

I looked at him as I spoke, well aware of the promise I had made the night before. What I really feared was that it was going to take longer than one day to fix, and I hated that thought. I had made a promise to finish this with all I had in me, and I didn't want to break it.

Dean looked at me and gave a slight shrug.

"That's alright. It's what we do, isn't it?" he said with a soft smile that meant he had read my thoughts and wasn't about to let me beat myself up. Then he turned his eyes back to the road. "Turn left. It's that way."

I looked ahead too and turned the way my brother indicated.

"How do you know where we're going?" I asked curiously.

"I passed this way when I left town."

I smiled to myself. How my brother could pinpoint one particular stretch of road and tell it from any other regular stretch of road after so many years in motion was an ability that would never cease to amaze me.

I observed him again. His expression had once more turned grave, and I couldn't help but remember what he had told Lilian's mother just an hour before. He had opened up there, probably more than he had expected himself to. It had surprised me, because Dean never talked about grief, even less _his _grief. In a way, I had felt a little betrayed that my brother had bared his heart to a stranger without much prompting. Of course, those thoughts were silly. After all, he had spoken in front of me, so it wasn't like he hadn't wanted me to hear. And even if it stung a little, I knew from experience that sometimes it was easier to talk to someone you didn't care so much about, someone whose potential judgement wouldn't tear you apart.

We reached the outskirts of the town and drove in silence for a few minutes. The radio was on, low and in the background. Dean's music, even if he was riding shotgun. After a short while, though, I noticed that my brother looked a little tense. He sat upright, his shoulders were set and his eyes were wide open, fixed ahead. At first, I thought he had seen something, but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary around us. A glance to the EMF detector, which was switched on just in case, on the dashboard revealed nothing.

"You okay?" I asked.

Dean gave a curt nod and even though I knew he was lying, I couldn't tell what was wrong exactly. More than that, I had the feeling he didn't quite know either. My attention divided between the road and Dean, I kept throwing him concerned glances. My worry spiked when he started trembling, subtly at first, but quickly changing to visible shaking.

"Dean?"

His breath hitched and became shallow. Mine caught when he flinched at my attempt to reach out for him.

"Stop the car," he gasped.

"What?"

"Stop the car, Sam. Let me out."

Without thinking twice and freaking out over Dean's sudden change in demeanor, I manoeuvred the car to the side of the road. Before I had time to kill the engine, he jumped out of the car. I followed him. Dean was walking fast —where to exactly, I couldn't know— and I had to run to catch up.

"Dean!"

He stopped abruptly, and I almost crashed into him.

"Hey."

I grabbed his arm, but he shrank away like a wounded animal. He was close to hyperventilating and tracked his surroundings with frantic eyes.

He was more awake than ever.

"What's wrong?"

"It was here," he whispered.

I frowned, uncomprehending, and tore my eyes from his distressed stance with a supreme effort. I didn't see anything special around us. We were standing next to a curve in the road that had weeds and a few trees on both sides. Then I looked down at the road and noticed some distinct tires marks.

"How did you…" I muttered to myself.

I crouched to study the black marks, ran my fingers over them, and swallowed hard. The car hadn't really braked at all. My fingers froze when I found a darkened stain of blood on the asphalt.

God, it had plowed straight into her…

I turned to Dean when I heard him groaning softly. He was standing just a few feet behind me in the middle of the road, hands pressing hard on his temples. I stood up cautiously. He was obviously in pain, but I was still wary about what was happening.

"Is it her?" I asked. "What's she doing?"

He shook his head imperceptibly and without meeting my eyes. His attention seemed lost somewhere past me, and he scanned the area frantically. I stepped forward to try and get through to him.

"Dean," I called gently.

His eyes darted to mine, and something broke inside him. I didn't know what, didn't know _how_, but I sensed the cracking of whatever it was so clearly it was as if I heard a vase crashing to the floor.

"Oh, God…" he whispered.

It scared me, the way he looked at me. As if he didn't see me or know me anymore.

"Oh, God…" he repeated.

He sank to his knees all of a sudden as if his legs had simply given out. I was by him barely a second later.

"Dean, what is it?" I asked, grabbing his shoulders in fright.

"She was right there…right where you were…She…oh God…" he stammered.

"What?"

"I didn't… I…I was… How could I?

"Dean, calm down. You're not making any sense," I pleaded, tightening my hold on him in a desperate attempt at quelling the tremors running through his body.

"I did it…"

"Did what?"

"I killed her," Dean whimpered. "I killed her."

* * *

**TBC**

**I know, it's short...but you know I had to stop it here...right??**

**Lots of love xx**


	10. Night 13 Part Three

**Hey guys! After the extraordinary response to my little "Taking Sides" ficlet, what else could I do other than updating Insomnia right away?**

**Okay, that is not exactly true. It was my beta who made it possible with an excellent timing. Thanks, babe. This has been a hard chapter to pull out, and she's been working double hard on it in order to make it better. Really, you rock.**

**I know some of you may not agree with the boys'choices. I just hope you try to understand what they're going through in this story and put yourselves in their impossible positions. And after that…you still don't see their POV, take it on me! They're clean ;-)**

**BTW, about "Taking sides"? This incredible girl, Michèle, has taken the time to revise it and I love her for it. Haven't replied to her nice email yet, but hopefully I'll have time to do it this evening.**

**From here, thanks Michèle! I'll write to you later ;-)**

**Now, on with the story...**

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**Chapter Ten.**

**Day 13. Part 3**

_Sam wouldn't remember most of the way back from the warehouse to the motel where he had left Dean. Even if he had wanted to remember those hours, they wouldn't have been more than a blur of disjointed images and sounds: the road, which could have been any road, and the dim light of the early hours of the morning, the roar of the Impala and the loud, erratic beating of his own heart. He couldn't think clearly, because all that made him Sam had been twisted, pulled and squeezed tight and now was lodged firmly in the pit of his stomach. All his cells were on hold, suspended in a state of numbness that enabled him to just keep driving, but nothing more._

_At first, he wasn't even nervous, at least not until the sun rose, and he got closer to his destination. By then, his mind began to stir and dread crept its way through his system. The knot in his stomach tightened, and his heart started beating quicker and quicker. Suddenly, the whole plan seemed so weak. How could he have thought that it would work? So yeah, the part of dragging the hellhounds away from Dean had worked, but had he really believed that if the appointed day ended they would just…back off? Just like that? And why? Because of a lost legend that had turned into a children's story in which the devil could be fooled with a silly disguise?_

_What the fuck had he been thinking?_

_Sam gripped the wheel harder and swallowed. He could feel his control slipping and as desperation took hold of him it was increasingly harder to find a good reason to struggle for calm. When the motel finally came into view, Sam really thought his chest would explode._

Dean is dead. Dean is dead, and I wasn't with him. Dean is dead, and what the hell am I still doing here?

_The first signs of panic overtook him when he finally parked in front of the room and, for a moment, Sam almost –almost- gave in to the temptation to drive away and end it. A traffic light, a tree…anything would do. But he had promised Dean, had promised that if he couldn't save him, at least he would find a way to free his soul. And Sam needed to be alive to do that. He turned off the engine with a hand that shook too much and then had to grab the seat because suddenly _everything_ was shaking too much. Digging his fingers in the fabric, Sam willed the world to stop spinning._

_Then the motel door opened, and his heart did a somersault._

_It was Bobby, most probably alerted by the rumble of the Impala. After spending a great deal of his life with cars as his only company, the man was able to recognize the sound of any engine almost as if they were human voices._

_Sam and Bobby locked eyes, but the latter's gave nothing away and the former's vision started to go gray at the edges. Somehow, Sam managed to get out of the car, and half-walked, half-stumbled to the older man, who waited for him at the door, and kept his expression collected until Sam reached him._

"_He's inside," Bobby said. Sam just ceased to exist. "Still asleep."_

_Sam breathed out, and all the blood that had frozen inside his veins started to rush back with a loud roar. The graying world became too bright all at once, and Sam had to close his eyes. His breathed hitched, and he thought he let out a soft cry._

_Must have, because surely Bobby would never make such a sound._

_The only think he knew was that he wasn't getting enough oxygen, that somehow his back had found the closed door, and that his legs were about to give out under him. His heart was beating so hard it hurt, as it hurt to take in every gulp of air he struggled for. He choked on a tearless sob and then another, although more than sobs, they sounded like strangled, gasping sounds._

Dean is alive.

_A hand was placed on his shoulder, and Sam opened his eyes to Bobby's anxious face peering intensely at him._

"_Did he make it? Is he alright?"_

_Sam blinked at the hunter's piercing eyes and couldn't answer. Reading the truth in the young hunter's silence, Bobby grimaced and let go of him to throw a punch against the wall._

"_Dammit, Sam!" he yelled. "Goddamit!"_

_With Bobby giving him his back, Sam stood by pulling himself up with the door. He really needed to sit down, but adrenaline was just starting to wear off, and the after rush had left him feeling shaky and on edge._

"_It worked," he mumbled. "It… It's eight…"_

_Bobby swirled around and gave him a somber look. Sam felt bile rising. Dean was alive and how dare Bobby think about anything else?_

"_Kid, what have you done?" Bobby whispered._

_There was sorrow in Bobby's voice, sadness and also a hint of…horror. At the realization, something icy gripped the remains of Sam's composure and shattered it._

"_Don't look at me like that," he hissed._

"_Look at you like what?"_

"_You don't get to judge me, Bobby," Sam growled, straightening up to his full height. "He wasn't just gonna _die. _We were talking about Hell, goddammit! And if you really thought I would accept that, then you don't know shit about me or Dean."_

_Bobby glared at Sam and didn't look impressed by the younger man's attitude. On the contrary, he stepped forward and came face to face with Sam. Almost nose to nose._

"_Don't give me that crap, Sam. I've known you since you were nothing but a couple of squirts. I'm here now, ain't I? After everything we've been through, how dare you…?"_

"_You would have let him die." Sam cut him off, voice tinged with rage._

_Bobby's eyes widened in bewilderment. Then they lit up, and he grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt._

"_Don't you repeat that, boy."_

_Sam slapped Bobby's hand away and pushed him backwards with fisted hands. The cold, warning tone of the seasoned hunter didn't stop him. Not anymore._

"_You would have let him die!" Sam screamed._

_Bobby tried to regain his balance, but Sam pushed him again, and the older hunter's back crashed against a veranda column. He stared at the panting Winchester in shock. After a few seconds, Sam regained his senses, but his eyes remained dark, like two pits of smoldering ashes. He looked down, then up at the sky and let out a long breath. He wanted to apologize, but was too tired to try. He wanted to make Bobby understand, but he never would. No one would. Funny that for Sam it was so easy to see. Finally, _finally_, he was a Winchester like the rest. Because both his father and Dean had condemned their souls for their family and he, well, he had done exactly the same thing._

"_Do you need me to do anything?" Bobby asked gruffly. Sam blinked and focused back on his father's friend, whose voice seemed to come from miles away. "Clean any trace…anything."_

_Sam understood what Bobby meant and appreciated the offer, but he could also see that the man wanted to leave. He was uncomfortable and Sam guessed that if he were in Bobby's shoes, he would find it hard to stand his own presence too. Sam couldn't blame him._

"_No, I took care of it," he replied, all animosity gone from his voice_

_Bobby nodded and scrubbed his beard, hesitant._

"_Sam…" he started, but trailed off, unable to find anything to say._

_Sam didn't expect him to find the right words, simply because there weren't any, so he just forced a sad smile that tasted bitterly of goodbye._

"_His name was Matthew," he whispered._

_It wasn't fair to put that on him, he knew, but he had needed to say it, at least once. When Bobby flinched -visibly flinched- though, Sam also knew that would be the last time he would ever say the name out loud._

"_Dean should wake up soon," Bobby mustered, nodding his head towards the door. "You should get inside and be there when he does."_

_Sam nodded and they met each other's gaze for a few, awkward seconds longer, before Bobby headed to his truck and Sam went into the room._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_I killed her_

I struggled for a second, unable to catch up with my brother's words. My brother, who was shaking in my arms like a leaf in the wind. Out of pure instinct, I pulled him closer to me and shook my head against the top of his.

"I don't understand," I muttered.

"I killed her, Sammy."

"What are you talking about?"

"God, I forgot. How could I forget?"

"Forget what?" I pressed, desperate. "Dean, you didn't kill her!"

Dean seemed to shrink within himself even more. Within himself and away from me.

"I was heading out of town," he spoke, brokenly. "I had…I wanted to drive for a while before stopping at a motel to crash, and I had the music on. I…I think I closed my eyes for a second, but it was just for a couple of chords. I swear I didn't miss a single note. I…" He trailed off and buried his head in his hands. "I don't remember seeing her…just…I hit something, and I startled and the car swerved a little, but I didn't see anything, and I thought I had dreamt it. I thought I had dreamt it."

I swallowed the bile that was rising in my throat. My mind was a blur and my comprehension had become sluggish. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I think I still refused to. It didn't make any sense.

My brother hadn't fallen asleep at the wheel and run over a girl.

"Dean, no," I heard myself saying. "It's gotta be the mara. She's making you see these things…"

"No."

"But how can you so sure all of a sudden?!"

"I just know. I remember now."

I shook my head again, knowing that I was in denial but not giving a fuck about it. There must be some kind of mistake; it had to be some sort of joke.

"It wasn't you. It couldn't be you."

I glanced at the car in breathless disbelief. Clumsily, I disentangled myself from my brother and scrambled my way to the Impala. I think I practically crawled over there, because I didn't trust my legs or my sense of balance at that point.

_They found her in the ditch over there... Seeing the tire marks, if he hit her it had to be with this side…_

I clenched my teeth when I got to the side of Dean's car and touched it with trembling hands. My stomach tightened when I found that the front part of the right side was dented, and for a moment my vision swam. With a mental shake of my head I forced myself to remember that Dean had had this encounter with a metal fence a month ago, when a nasty werewolf rammed against him during a hunt. He had told me about it and the damage to the car. But I had thought he had it fixed already. And yet, maybe he hadn't. Just maybe, right?

_It's on my side of the car. The passenger side. My side, and I haven't been here to take a closer look. I just never thought…. _

When I got to the fender, it gave a little under my hands and I gasped when my fingers came back tainted in dry flakes of dark brown. Gasped, because I knew those flakes weren't mud.

_I wasn't here to stop it._

I shut my eyes tightly and pulled in a strangled intake of air. For a moment, I had the weird, detached feeling that I wasn't myself anymore, that I was somewhere outside my own body, watching the scene from above. It only lasted a few seconds before it all crashed back on me, and I rubbed my fingers clean on the leg of my jeans before turning towards Dean.

He chose to look up then, to meet my eyes. My heart skipped a beat at the raw emotion contained in his expression, the guilt, the pain, the fear. I could hear his silent plea; I could feel him reaching out, if only a little.

_Sammy…_

It was my fault that I didn't know how to react in time. My fault entirely that he mistook my shock for disappointment and pulled away before I could stop him.

"Dean…"

He stood up and wavered, but he shoved me away when I tried to steady him.

"Dean, please."

"Please what, Sam?"

"Don't…don't do this to yourself."

"To _myself_?" Dean turned around and glared at me. "I killed that little girl!"

"Even if you did, it was an accident." I gulped around the bitter taste of acceptance of those words, but it was still true.

It had been an accident, and my brother had to keep that in mind.

"That's no excuse," Dean denied.

"You had gone 72 hours without sleeping, man. You had saved a man's life, and who knows how many others would have died if you hadn't…"

"So one life for the other, is that what you're saying? You think since I saved Mark it doesn't matter that I killed Lilian and then ran off?"

"I'm saying that it was an accident. And you didn't _run_, Dean! You just said you didn't see her!"

"But I did see her!!" Dean screamed. "I must have. How could I have been dreaming about her if I hadn't?"

His voice broke, and my composure followed. I struggled to pull in a breath, and I barely managed. Averting my eyes, I stepped back, ran my hands through my hair, and tried to focus. In front of me, Dean wasn't doing much better.

"God, Sam, the light around her, it was my headlights. My headlights! How could I just forget?"

I didn't know how to respond to that, I really didn't, and hell if that didn't make me feel like shit. Suddenly, the only thing I could think of were Sandra's, the psychiatrist's, words.

_"I think something's happened to him. Something that's got him terrified to go to sleep, to the point that he physically can't."_

_"He would have told me. If something had happened, he would have told me."_

_"I don't think he knows."_

Could that be possible? I had read enough about PTSD to know how far a person's subconscious could go to protect itself, and how bad it could all end when the blocked events slipped through the cracks. I imagined my brother, driving along a desert road at night with the radio on and the engine rumbling, alone and beyond exhausted. I imagined him closing his eyes for a second.

_Only for a second…_

Dozing for a minute and then startled awake when Lilian had jumped in the way. The car had headed right into her. He hadn't even tried to slow down or avoid her. He really hadn't seen her. Not until it was too late.

Both the actual hit and the girl's face had not registered consciously, only the swerve that he had had to correct. But both remained somewhere deep in his mind, mingled in the cobwebs of sleep, like the dream people sometimes have just a split second before waking up, the one that is never remembered afterwards. The kind of dreamy memory that's ready to pound at you as soon as you let your guard down. And he wouldn't even know.

I closed my eyes and swallowed bitterly. The EMF detector was still on the dashboard. Quiet like it had been all along.

_It was no hunt. It was never supernatural._

Yeah, I was sure there were lots of rational, psychological explanations to use in answering my brother's broken question, but looking at him now, a devastated mess with his hand fisted at his sides and desperation written all over his face, I knew he wouldn't want any of those. I looked around, swallowing convulsively, and the emotion that tightened my stomach when my attention again zeroed in on the tire marks had nothing to do with the sad compassion that I had felt just a minute ago.

This time, fear overrode anything else. Fear that Dean would be taken from me because of one mistake.

"Go back to the car, Dean," I said gravely.

"W-What?" he mumbled.

"We gotta pack up what we left at the motel, and then we're leaving."

"Sam?"

_Jesus, don't look at me like that._

"Dean, move."

"No!" he shook his head, looking hurt.

"No?"

"No. I'm not running," he said firmly. "Not again."

The fear intensified, and I felt its icy grip effectively cutting off my air supply.

"What do you mean, you're not running? What do you want to do?"

"I have to tell the truth to her parents. I don't know…talk to the cops."

"Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed, fear already seeping into my voice. "You think they'll just let you walk away from this? They'll lock you up, Dean!"

He looked away, jaw-clenched. There were tears in his eyes, although he wouldn't allow them to fall and he looked just so…shattered. I didn't envy his inner struggle, because unfortunately, I was familiar with it myself.

_No, don't go there. _

No, I didn't envy that pain, but I would take it from him without a second thought if he'd let me.

"Dean, c'mon."

"I can't, Sam," He said, shaking his head.

"Yes, you can! Of course you can!" I yelled, losing my temper to the fear inside me. "We do it all the time! People die, Dean! We try to stop it, but sometimes it happens, and since we can't explain it, we get as far away as possible!"

"This wasn't a hunt, Sam!" he yelled back. "And it didn't just _happen_. I _did_ it! It was me, and just me. I killed a person, and no one was possessed, and no one was fighting anything!"

By the time he finished yelling, he was panting and I was a minute away from crying. His pain was too intense, and I couldn't fix it. He was right, and he was wrong, and he wouldn't be the person I loved if he just agreed to leave, but, at the same time, I wouldn't be worthy of him if I let that tragedy matter between us or if I let him pay for it, after all the good he had done. I felt sorry for Lilian and her family, I really did. But I didn't know them and, regardless, they would never come before Dean.

"Dean," I tried, "what difference is it gonna make if you confess? It won't bring Lilian back. And think about all the other people that could die if you're not out there _saving_ them. This has been a tragedy, a horrible accident, but you've got to let it go."

He stared at me in a way that almost made me flinch.

"You can't seriously believe that," Dean whispered in disgust.

All of a sudden I couldn't stand the weight of his gaze, and something inside me started to shake. My heart began pounding hard inside my chest, and it got harder to get my lungs to work.

_Please…Please, Dean, don't look at me like that._

"Yes. Yes I do," I countered, defiantly.

"You think I can just forget I've killed a person and move on?" Dean shot out in disbelief. "What kind of monster do you think I am? I'm not like…"

"Me? Is that what you're trying to say? You're not a monster like me?" I cried.

The words were out before I could exercise any control over them, and they were more a reflex than anything else. And yet, it would have been a lie if I said that I didn't know where they had come from. They expressed my worst terror verbalized: that my better half would finally discover that while he was the only part of my life that made sense, I was what tainted his.

I saw Dean's expression waver and a little frown crease his forehead as he looked at me in a way hard to define. I thought it was guilt there in his face, and that reinforced my point. In that moment, something broke loose inside me, a blinding pain twisted my gut, and I stopped breathing. Literally. I could feel my eyes tearing, and I was unable to stop it. But once the words were out in the open, there was no taking them back. Honestly, I didn't want to take them back. The truth was, that until I had snapped I hadn't realized how close to the surface those words had been.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean grunted.

Any other time, I'd have let it go. I should have let it go that time around, if I had known better or if I had been in my right mind. I didn't, though. I wasn't. Days of stress, weeks of loneliness and months of guilt, they all crashed down on me at Dean's insinuation. And next came rage, as hot and uncontrolled as it had been when I used to stand up to my father's attacks or when I had lashed out at Bobby all that time ago.

If only they could _understand_, instead of judge.

_Please…please Dean, don't hate me._

"You know what I'm talking about," I hissed.

"Sam, I've told you plenty of times, Madison wasn't…"

"I'm not talking about Madison!" I yelled. "And before you try, I'm not talking about Steve Wendell either!"

How could I yell with such fury when I wanted nothing but to cry my heart out on his shoulder?

Dean stopped, stared at me in bewilderment for a few seconds. And then his eyes widened fractionally, and he stepped back.

He stepped back from _me_.

"Don't."

I wanted to die.

"Do I disgust you that much?"

"Sam, _don't_."

"That's why you pushed me away? Because you couldn't stand to be near me anymore?"

"Shut the fuck up, Sam!" Dean roared. "This is different!"

"Yes, it is! Because _unlike you_ I did it knowingly, and I'd fucking do it again!"

That was it, the plain truth. I had known it for a long time, but this was the first time I dared to say it out loud. I had killed, maybe not with my own hands, but completely in my right mind. I had done everything I could to prevent it, but I knew there was a good chance that I'd fail, and I had overrode my conscious. And the worst part was that I wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing once more if necessity called for it, because it had _saved_ Dean.

Dean, who was by far a better person than I was and refused to let go of a death that might have been his doing but which was far from being his fault to the same extent than I was responsible for my own crime. Dean, who was looking at me with hurt, betrayed eyes.

I was so sorry. His guilt over something he didn't even know he had done until now had been close to destroying him, and it still might. Despite everything he refused to run and, for a minute, that pissed me off so much that I felt like dropping all the darkness I should have kept protecting him from onto his shoulders. I so sucked at being his protector. The only thing I wanted was to bundle him in the car and leave. Just leave.

"Dean…" I muttered.

All the rage had gone from my voice, and only sorrow was left in its wake as I reached out for him.

"Don't touch me, Sam," he growled.

My knees faltered, and I felt nauseous. My brother was looking at me as if he didn't know me, and it was hard to imagine anything worse.

"Please," I said in a thin voice.

Dean swallowed hard.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

I didn't stop him when he stomped out of my reach without looking back. And I didn't follow him either. Couldn't have, even if I thought I should. I was paralyzed. And when I finally turned around, stricken by a sudden stomach-clenching panic that I may never see him again, he had already disappeared down the road.

"Fuck," I muttered and scrubbed my eyes hard, forcing the moisture back with a deep growl.

I knew I shouldn't have fought with Dean, especially given how bad the situation had been. But the speed at which he had been ready to hand himself over had really scared me, and I had lashed out. But what did he want from me? That I was just ready and willing to see him arrested and charged with a hit and run? And I swear that pissed me off, especially because when the thing with Madison had come down –and not only then, but also after he had seen me killing off Steve Wendell on camera, even before he had known I was possessed- he had been the first to put himself into action and make sure there was no evidence against me. More than that, he had made sure I wouldn't be anywhere near the crime scene by the time the cops came.

His double standard was frustrating on the best of days. I couldn't help it; it annoyed me to no end. Even if I knew it wasn't my brother's intention, Dean's attitude made me feel like a terrible, selfish person. Just like he still made me feel guilty about Stanford every time I looked into his eyes. And every time I tried to make it right for him for a change, he didn't let me!

I thought maybe I should call Bobby, because if _he_ intervened, he might convince Dean to let it go. My brother trusted him, and I knew Bobby wouldn't let Dean down. But, I wasn't sure how close they were at the moment, especially after the way I had broken Dean's deal. During the last few months, Dean had mentioned Bobby a couple of times, but as far as I knew they had been talking only on the phone, and they hadn't seemed to have seen each other in all that time. I really hated thinking I was responsible for ruining their relationship. Then again, Dean had a sixth sense that let him know when something was wrong between me and anyone else, and he automatically felt wary about that person too. It was a natural reaction for him.

Besides, Dean had called me, not Bobby. When he had felt vulnerable, even under the haze of drugs, his fingers had instinctively found _my_ number

_Dammit Dean!_, I thought, as I got into the car.

And I was the one who would stick with him, no matter what.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_Dean didn't begin to stir until an hour later. Sam had been sitting on the chair next to the desk all that time, practically immobile, with his eyes fixed on the rise and fall of his brother's chest._

_There was some food in the room, a bag of chips, a loaf of bread and half a liter of Coke. Sam guessed it was Bobby's and picked at it distractedly while he thought about the older hunter. He wondered if he had managed to screw it up with Bobby, just like he had with his father. Well, just like John himself had done with Bobby all those years ago._

_Judging by the look on Bobby's face before he had left, he bet the answer was yes._

_Then he wondered if Dean would be hungry when he woke up, and the thought guided his attention back to his brother's breathing. _

_When Dean started to give signs that he was waking up, Sam tensed expectantly. The drug Sam had given him wasn't supposed to have any real after effects; at most Dean would be a little hung over, but nothing more. Sam wondered if he would realize that a whole day had passed since they were having a beer on the hood of the Impala, or if he would know what had happened right away, know what Sam had done by taking a single look into his eyes._

_It was then that Sam started to panic again, and the symptoms of nervous nausea returned to his stomach. It was fear, pure and unadulterated, that Bobby's look of recrimination would be the one he would find in Dean's eyes. The same disgust, the disappointment. Sam had been ready to have Dean hate him; it had been just one more sacrifice -along with Bobby's respect and friendship- to add to the list of what he was willing to give. But, all of a sudden, he realized that he wouldn't be able to take it. Not that and not so soon._

_"Sam..."_

_His brother's voice made Sam jump. Dean's eyes were still half-mast, pupils blown, and his voice sounded raspy, slurred at the edges. Part of Sam wanted to go to him, hold on to him and help him focus. The other part screamed at him to run before that awful look and the emotion it symbolized overtook Dean's expression._

_"S-Sammy?" Dean tried again, becoming more alert as seconds passed._

_His eyes finally zeroed in on Sam, and the latter, gradually losing his battle for control, avoided his brother's gaze. His stomach rebelled and before he knew it, he was running to the bathroom and falling to his knees to empty his stomach in the porcelain bowl._

_"Sam?"_

_Dean was calling him; he could hear him over the heaves that racked his body. But Sam couldn't answer, because his mind and body were breaking into too many pieces at the same time. Dean kept calling him, and eventually- it could have been seconds or hours or days- he started pounding on a door that Sam didn't recall closing._

_"SAM! Open the door!"' Dean yelled. "Open the damn door!"_

_Sam didn't move; he was too spent to try. He just buried his face in his arms. His cheeks were wet, he was shaking harder than he ever had and while he wasn't heaving anymore, strangled, broken sobs kept pouring out from a place deep inside him. It was as if someone was plunging a knife into his gut over and over again._

Dean knows.

_Suddenly the infuriated pounding stopped, and there was a crash and steps and muffled curses. Sam didn't raise his head, not even when a pair of warm, familiar arms came around his shoulders._

_"Shit, Sam! What happened?" Dean demanded. "Man, what's wrong?" He shook his younger brother's shoulders urgently, growing more and more agitated. "Dammit, talk to me! What did you do? What the fuck did you do?!"_

_Sam cringed, as if Dean's words had fire in them, and tried to pull away and hide somewhere dark and isolated where being a monster didn't hurt everyone around him. However, his attempt at disappearing did nothing but increase his brother's sense of fatality. _

"_No..." Dean muttered under his breath. __"No, no, no, no, no."_

_Dean didn't let go of Sam. On the contrary, he pulled him closer against his chest and held onto him for dear life. Enveloped in his brother's warmth, Sam's nerves soothed enough to realize that Dean was shaking just as badly as he was. At first, Sam wasn't able to get past his confusion and didn't understand his brother's distress._

"_Sam, no. No, no, no. __Please, no. Please, no, Sammy, no..."_

_After a beat, he realized that Dean didn't sound angry, but terrified out of his mind. More than that, his brother was hanging on to him in a hard and desperate way, as if Sam was going to vanish at any second._

_It hit him then, what Dean feared for real._

He thinks I've remade the deal. He thinks _I'm_ the goner now.

_Sam almost laughed, only he lacked the spirit for it._

"_I'm alright," Sam mumbled shakily, his voice muffled against Dean's shoulder. _

_Dean's breath caught, but he didn't say anything or move, only held Sam tighter as if he didn't dare believe his little brother's words._

"_We both are," Sam assured._

_And finally, as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, Sam allowed himself to give into Dean's embrace and said, "It's over. _Over_. I promise."_

_The strength in Dean's arms as he hugged him could very well have crushed bones. But Sam couldn't bring himself to care about anything beyond the fact that the deal, the nightmare, was over for them both._

_Just because, in that moment, Dean didn't give a damn about the rest either. _

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Get in the car, Dean," I pleaded for the fourth time.

I had found him a couple of miles down the road on his way back to town, and I had spent the last five minutes trying to coax him into the Impala. But Dean didn't stop walking and didn't look at me at all, even though I was driving right beside him and slowly enough to match his pace.

"Man, c'mon," I said, calling through the window.

I sighed and pulled my lower lip between my teeth. Dean's eyes were fixed ahead, shoulders set and stride intent. But his apparent determination couldn't fool me; he could barely walk a straight line. I could tell he was still shaking, and one of the reasons he wouldn't meet my eyes was that there were tears shining in his.

"Dean, please," I whispered.

Despite the low tone I was using, I knew he could hear me. Even from where I was sitting I was able to see him swallow and clench his fists. So, yes, he heard me. He just didn't want to listen to me. And I guess that was no surprise, since he had told me to leave him alone just twenty minutes ago.

"Please, I'm sorry."

That got his attention in so far as he looked down and ignored me, but this time with a wounded frown that reflected his inner struggle. The rebuff hurt, because he shouldn't hesitate or doubt me. Yet I had the feeling I had been the one to make him believe that he couldn't count on me in this. And that wasn't true, so I kept going, because I was terrified that he might not know how I felt if I didn't tell him now.

"I'm so sorry, man, I was an asshole. I just…I don't know what got into me."

Dean took a deep breath and pursed his lips, but his steps faltered. I slowed down, so that I didn't leave him behind, but I resisted the urge to stop the car and try to physically drag him into the Impala. I needed him to come back to me so bad it hurt, but I couldn't force him to, even if he was determined to walk the five miles back to town on legs that were about to fold under him. Even if I could see that he could barely keep his head up, and his eyes focused anymore.

"Dean," I sighed, "whatever you did, whatever happened, we'll do what you want, alright? Just…Just, _please_, let me go with you."

Dean stopped then, although it took me a moment to realize he wasn't moving, and at first I feared the way he wavered meant he was going to collapse.

And, God help me, part of me wished he would, and I could just get him into the car and drive as far away as possible.

I stopped the car and put it into reverse. I drove backward a few feet until I could see him through the passenger's side window. He kept his eyes glued to the ground, though, and I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood from the long moments he took to, finally, glance at me with a guarded, worn-out expression. I held his gaze as steadily as I managed, despite the burning sensation in the back of my eyes and the choking lump in my throat. After an agonic couple of seconds, Dean's lips trembled imperceptibly and he moved towards the car's door. I held my own breath while he opened the door and climbed into the passenger's seat. My heart was pounding like mad, and it was almost as loud as the sound of the door slamming closed.

Only then, as silence enveloped us, could I force the air back into my lungs and let it out with a relieved sigh.

"Thanks," I muttered.

My brother refused to look at me or do anything other than dig his fingers into the edge of the leather seat and remain otherwise deadly still. At a complete loss for words, I wet my lips and looked at my hands which tightly gripped the steering wheel. It took me some time before I was able to find anything to say.

"Where to?" I eventually croaked.

"To Lillian's," he whispered back, rough and empty.

I closed my eyes for an instant and exhaled heavily to force down the frustration, the anger and the renewed wave of fear that took me over. I nodded, slowly, and started the car again with a tingly sensation in the pit of my stomach. My hands shook on the wheel and all my instincts were screaming to knock Dean out and get him away from harm. Because it was killing me to know that I was driving him back into something that could very well destroy him.

Only, it would kill him, if I didn't.

The drive was silent, tense. After our fight at the side of the road, Dean was probably still mad at me. He had agreed to get in the car, but it might have been because he didn't really have any other way to get into town, not because he forgave me. The way he had looked at me… It still burned. However, I needed to put that aside for the time being and keep a level head.

Because this wasn't about me.

As minutes passed, I started to think more clearly. It didn't help ease the fear at the enormity of the situation, but I kind of started to look at it from my brother's point of view. What he was going through… I couldn't even begin to imagine it. The sense of responsibility and guilt, unfortunately we were familiar with those. It wasn't the first time someone had died on our watch. Hell, Lilian wasn't even the first life we had ever taken. It always sucked, but there had always been a reason—any kind of reason—that made it easier to process, accept and move on.

Lilian's death had no reason. No purpose. It was just so damn absurd that handing himself over was the only way my brother had to make some sense of it. To make it as fair as it could get.

It was the only honorable thing to do. I should know that. Hell, I had felt bad for years because of the stupid credit card scams! It was just that honor fell a little down on my list of priorities when my brother's sanity and freedom was on the line. Dean had guessed that much too. And he had been disgusted by the man I had become…

_Don't. Don't make it about you._

I shook my head imperceptibly, and felt my brother's eyes on me for a fleeting second before he fixed his gaze onto his lap all over again.

We made the last turn and drove onto the street where Lilian's house was. There, I pulled over at the corner and killed the engine. The Lambert's house was 60 feet down the street, on our right. Dean's side. We both observed the façade without saying a word and, for the longest time, neither of us moved. Then I finally looked at Dean, who stared at the building completely transfixed. The profound anxiety reflected in his eyes made me snap out of my own state of foreboding. Without being able to stop myself, I reached out and squeezed his knee.

He tore his attention from the building, and I felt him studying me in silence. I didn't pull my hand back, just left it there over his jean-clad knee. I did, however, avoid his gaze and looked ahead instead of meeting his eyes. I was so ashamed of myself, but I wasn't really sure why exactly. I wanted to make him feel better, to be there for him…

To keep him there with me.

"Sammy," he muttered softly. I felt his hand brushing my sleeve. It seemed like he would rest it on my arm, but at the last minute he hesitated and pulled back. "I need you to understand."

Such simple words, and they were enough to constrict my throat all over again, right when I had thought I was more or less in control. I breathed in, squeezed his knee again and then rested both hands on the wheel.

"I understand, Dean," I replied, sincerely. "But you can't ask me to like it."

"You'd do the same thing," he stated, without a shadow of a doubt in his voice, "if you were in my place."

I offered a half-smile, without looking at him. Would I do the same thing? In those same circumstances, most probably, yeah. At least I'd try. But that wasn't the funny part.

"And if you were in _my_ place, you wouldn't let me." I retorted.

It was his turn to avert his eyes. We both knew I was right about that, although it wouldn't help now. Dean scrubbed his forehead and pressed hard on his temples with his thumbs. I recognized the motion as an effort to focus so that he could try to think and reason. I couldn't even imagine how hard it was for him to fight the haziness of two sleepless weeks and the terrible burden of Lilian's death at the same time.

"I… I gotta tell them. They have a right to know who took her from them…" he mumbled with a shake of his head.

He sounded so overwhelmed that just listening to his voice hurt. How was I going to let him hand himself over when he sounded like that?!

"What for, Dean? So they can have their revenge?"

"No, so that there can be _justice_, Sam."

I released a breath. Justice. Of course. Dean believed in justice with a fierceness that was belied by his cocky, irreverent attitude towards all kind of rules and morals. It was something that I had always known, despite the fact that I liked to call him on his flippancy and he liked to pretend I was the self-righteous one. It was comfortable and safe for both of us. But deep inside me, I had always believed that his principles were stronger than mine.

Revenge was what had driven my father and me after the yellow eyed demon came into our lives. It was a dark, lethal and self-destructive emotion. My brother's passion in the quest was purer, born from a desire to protect others instead of punishing them. I admired him for that, always had. And I had spent my whole life trying to emulate him.

"Justice," I repeated roughly, swallowing thickly around the word. "So, what are you going to do? Confess and let them get you arrested and charged with a hit and run?"

I shook my head and gazed at the Lambert's house distractedly. From the moment we had learned the truth behind Lilian's death on the side of the road, and even as my mind struggled to cope with such terrible facts, the lawyer in me had gone on autopilot and had run through the options Dean had. A hit and run in Colorado was a Class 2 misdemeanor, which meant a thousand dollars fine and up to twelve months in jail, unless a judge considered it a felony, which would make things worse. Then again, a psychiatric evaluation —maybe Sandra could provide it, if she got past the fact that we have lied to her from the beginning— could very well prove that Dean hadn't really _run_, just like that, but had been suffering from severe PTSD that had kept him from confessing earlier. Strictly speaking, with the appropriate approach we could win at court if we had luck. Justice would be served, and maybe my brother would find some peace.

However, he was overlooking a very important detail.

"But what if they dig around a little deeper, Dean? Once you get into the system, someone may know someone and find something and suddenly St. Louis, Milwaukee and Monument, and all the other shit Hendricksen thought he had on us comes up again. We erased our records, alright, but it was a superficial fix, and it won't stand up to serious investigation. All together? We would be talking life, man. Even _death_. And, tell me, how would _that_ be any kind of justice?

Dean's expression faltered, and he looked at me with profound anguish in his eyes that made my insides curl.

"They'll charge you too," he whispered.

"W-what?" I stammered, caught off-guard.

"If I blow our cover, they'll hunt you again and try to charge you too for all that, right?" he said, almost to himself.

"No, Dean," I ground out, heart pounding. "Don't do that."

Damn him and his obsession with me! God, I really didn't mean that, but I swear that at that particular moment, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. The thought of what consequences his confession would have for _me_ hadn't even crossed my mind, and I _couldn't_ be what forced him to go against his instincts.

Not again.

As much as I was ready to use any card to keep him safe, I would not use my own good as a bargaining chip this time. Maybe, in a way, it was a selfish thing to do, because I just didn't want to risk him resenting me in the future. Besides, that I would drop my current life if he was arrested was so out of the question, regardless of whether I was charged too or not. As a matter of fact, I'd definitely prefer being charged, because I wasn't going to let my brother go to prison without someone having his back. Over my dead body.

Not to mention that I believed I would deserve prison much more than he did.

"This is not about me, man. I'm just saying that after all the good you have done, all the good you can still do, you do _not_ deserve to be punished for life."

"She was a little girl, Sam," Dean murmured.

"And how many little girls have you saved, Dean?! How many times have you risked your life to protect them?" I cried out, letting frustration get the better of me. "That's gotta fucking count for something in the big scheme, or _karma_ or whatever the hell you want to call it!"

Dean's jaw flexed but other than that, he remained silent at my outburst and I could only avert my eyes and wipe angrily at a rebel tear what had been about to roll down my right cheek.

"It does for me," I finished shakily.

I hit the wheel with my right hand and rubbed my chin with the other, as I stared intently through my window to avoid my brother's gaze, at least until I could get my exploding emotions under control.

"You've grown up so well, Sammy."

I turned around and found my brother looking at me with an indecipherable expression. I frowned and smile a little, unsure. What did he mean? Since I was born or during the last few months? Because I was pretty sure I had stopped growing up a few years ago.

"Dude…"

My retort died inside my throat when he raised his hand and brushed the side of my face with extreme gentleness.

I froze.

"Dean?"

He let his hand fall, although his eyes remained locked onto mine. Then he smiled.

"Go, Sam."

My head started to shake even before I could process his words and find my voice to deny them.

"No."

"Go back to the motel, I mean it."

"I'm not…" I stammered. "What the fuck, Dean? I'm not going anywhere!"

"Yes, you are," he said firmly. Absolutely in control.

I shook my head more vigorously. I couldn't believe my ears.

"Dean…" I protested.

I wanted to be firm, unyielding. But then my breath hitched, and I just broke completely. He was pushing me away. Again. And it hurt so much I thought I wouldn't be able to breathe ever again.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm _sorry_. I told you we'd do what you want! You want to confess, alright, we'll go there and confess! I never said I wouldn't, I just…"

"I heard you, Sammy," he said, reassuringly.

"But then…"

"I still need you to leave."

"Why, Dean?" I cried. "Why?"

"Because…" He frowned and closed his eyes tiredly. "Just 'cause."

I felt my throat closing up and blinked back the urge to break into tears. I didn't think I had much more to offer. He just didn't want me with him, and why would he? Defeated, I swallowed and looked down.

"Dean, you don't have to," I tried. One last time.

He smiled again. It was a warm smile, despite everything, like the look in his eyes.

"I know. Thanks for driving me, man."

I knew he meant it. Still, it didn't anything to ease the cold inside my veins.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

I came back to the room alone, not really knowing what else to do. I had never felt so helpless and alienated in my life. I couldn't believe that I had listened to my brother and left him on his own, but Dean barely asked for anything for himself and he had pleaded me to go. I wanted to hope that he would be all right, but I couldn't fool myself. Of course he wasn't all right. He was probably going to Lilian's parents, ready to confess. My stomach lurched at the idea; my brother was going to confess, and I wasn't by his side.

I paced the room, with my hands laced behind my head. It was like being a kid again, stuck in the Impala while my father and Dean might be hurt out there. Or like being in Stanford, and fearing that any day the call would come to tell me that my family had died. Or waiting on my brother to wake up from his coma. Staying the fuck up until dawn in my apartment in Philly, running through all kind of gruesome scenarios in my mind, until Dean checked in after a hunt.

I hated waiting so much and somehow it seemed that I always ended up at this most powerless end of my family's pain. It made me anxious and then I got irritated and lost all measure of control. Considering that I had no idea of my brother's whereabouts now —for all I knew, he could have been arrested and on his way to prison— I could safely say that I was gnashing my teeth. At Dean. At the world. Especially at myself.

It wasn't until a couple of hours later, just when my frustration was reaching its limits, that I heard shuffling behind the motel door. My heart started to beat faster, and I swallowed a couple of times, trying to control the fear that threatened to come out as an explosive fit of anger. Standing slowly, my fists clenched of their own accord as the door opened and, despite my efforts, I was ready to yell at Dean the second I set eyes on him.

That was until I actually saw him, and then all the anger faded. He came in quietly and closed the door behind him, without meeting my eyes at all. He was soaked, his clothes were plastered against his body, and his hair was sprinkled with drops of rain that trickled down his face as he moved. The first thought that came to my mind was that I hadn't even realized it was raining outside. And the second, that if I had thought I felt guilty before, I really should revise what I thought I knew about that particular emotion.

I gulped and bit my lip, waiting for him to acknowledge me as I assessed his condition with a trained eye. He looked ragged in so many ways I couldn't start counting them; the cold had made him paler, which made the other signs of his exhaustion even more noticeable. His eyes were dull, spent, as if there were nothing left of him there. And he was _so_ sad. More than that, he was…crushed. It was even worse than the days before the deal came due, when he had managed to summon some measure of peace about his fate; back then it had been acceptance but never renouncement.

I couldn't stand seeing him so defeated and do nothing. I ached to go to him but hesitated when he didn't advance. He remained next to the door, with his back against the wall and his eyes glued to the floor. I made one tentative step towards him, and he glanced up, if only for a split second before immediately averting his eyes. My heart clenched, missing the eye contact as if was the air I breathed. I decided to take the first step.

"What happened?"

Dean pursed his lips, but other than that showed no reaction.

"Dean," I called him, with a clear edge of nervousness in my tone. I needed to know if I had to prepare myself to say goodbye. "Tell me what happened."

"I didn't do it." Dean spoke, his voice barely a whisper. I shut my mouth at once, and I wasn't able to do anything but stare at him wide-eyed. "Tell them," he clarified. "I didn't do it. I couldn't."

I released a breath and took another slow, controlled one. The guilty relief at his words was debilitating, but I didn't give in to it, because I wasn't sure where Dean was going with this and I knew he wasn't done talking. It was something I could read in his body language; his muscles were tense, his hands nervous, and he kept his eyes downcast, vaguely fixed on some point on the floor in order to avoid meeting my gaze. Just like all the other times he had allowed himself to show his feelings to me. I guess it was easier for him to talk without looking at me, and in some ways it was easier for me too.

"Why didn't you?" I prompted him softly.

He flashed me another brief glance, too quick for me to have time to give him an encouraging smile in return. However, that I was still there and ready to listen was all the encouragement he needed.

"I went to the house, Lilian's. Her little sister was in the garden, playing with their dad. She had your…horse doll and they were playing cowboys and indians. She was an Indian princess," he commented with a weak smile. I smiled too. "Her mother was at the door, looking at them. She looked sad, tired. But, I dunno, she was lighter somehow. She was…smiling, Sammy," he said reverently. His voice trembled a little, and he looked at me for a second. I tilted my head, focused entirely on him. I couldn't be sure of the expression I was wearing at the time, and I could only hope it was supportive enough for him to continue. "And I couldn't do it. I couldn't…go there and put them through all that shit again. You should have seen them. They were…maybe not _happy_, but they…" He shook his head and shut his eyes tight.

"They were moving on," I provided. "They were moving on, just like you told them to."

Dean opened his eyes and fixed a troubled gaze onto mine, pupils bright and full of regret.

"But they deserve to know the truth," he murmured. "I wanted them to know the truth!"

"No, Dean," I shook my head, gravely. "You wanted them to forgive you."

His breath halted, and he swallowed, eyes tearing up. My throat closed when he looked down again, ashamed. I hated myself but at the same time I had the feeling he needed to have this conversation or neither of us would get past the tragedy.

"But they won't, Dean." I shook my head again. "They _can't._"

He pursed his lips and shrank into himself even more. God, he thought I was accusing him. He thought _I_ thought he was a coward.

"But that doesn't make it less of an accident." I tried to make him understand. "It just makes them a family."

Dean huffed out a breath as he tilted his head back and against the wall. I knew I was losing him, but at that point I didn't really have anything more to offer. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't erase what had happened. Besides, I did believe what I had said. It had been an accident. Alright, maybe my brother had miscalculated how tired he was. Probably he shouldn't have been driving. Then again, Dean would _never_ have put other people's lives at risk on purpose. So, yeah, it had been a mistake, but being wrong didn't make him a cruel murderer.

The problem was that as long as Dean didn't believe in himself, I didn't know if I would be able to help him. I would have done anything to erase the devastation on this face, if only he'd tell me what he needed. Looking at him standing there, shivering next to the door, vulnerable and raw was heartbreaking. He looked so lost, so… lonely. On his own against a kind of pain that couldn't be mended by denial or joke.

Only he wasn't alone. I was _right there_. And even though I couldn't get into his head and deal with him, I could try to get as close as possible and deal by his side. The only problem was that I didn't know how to do that; I was frozen in my safe spot, half-way between reaching out for him and waiting him out, and neither option seemed like a good idea.

"Dean…"

_Please, just give me a sign._

"I don't know what to do, Sammy," he whispered, "I- I don't know what I'm supposed to do. It's like…I don't know anything anymore."

He sounded so _confused_. With all the insanity of the last few hours, I had practically forgotten that he hadn't been able to rest properly in the last two weeks. And he was only human, after all; even if he kept insisting on ignoring that little detail I should have kept it in mind at all costs. Learning the truth about Lilian's death had hit him at his weakest, when he had no chance to pull himself together by his own means. On top of that I had broken under the stress of the moment, and as a result I had dropped my own burden about Matthew on his shoulders too. No wonder he felt lost, disoriented, like he couldn't turn to anyone for help or support.

I had the feeling that it was my entire fault. For not being stronger, for not catching up before. For not being where I should have been all along.

"You asked me to trust you, when I doubted myself. Now you trust me, alright?" I whispered back, trying to summon all the confidence I had in him. It was the only thing easy to do, since the whole mess had started. "You're the best person I know, Dean. Trust me. And let it go."

_My soul for his, as many times as I have to. Absolutely, always. At last, no buts._

Dean swallowed thickly and met my eyes with a pained gaze.

"She was thirteen..." he murmured, voice thick with tears. "God, kiddo, I remember _you_ at thirteen."

Automatically dragged along by the need his expression reflected, I went to him. Honestly, I didn't know what I'd do when I got to him; he had never wanted to be hugged when he felt exposed. I feared I would end up just awkwardly standing next to him, helplessly at a loss for words like so many other times. Dean beat me to making any decisive moves, though, by lowering his eyes and unexpectedly advancing towards me. I stopped warily, the knot in my stomach sending a gawking sensation of alarm into my system. But then my whole nervous system shut down when he leaned into me and just…stilled.

My lips moved silently, in search of words that wouldn't make their way through my closed throat. My pulse quickened, then slowed down to match the beating of his heart that I felt against my chest. He wasn't hugging me, not really, and he wasn't asking to be hugged either. Dean was just...well, simply _leaning_ against me, nothing more and nothing less. His hands curled in the fabric of my shirt without gripping it, and he pressed his forehead against my shoulder. In a way, he was still hiding, but it wasn't from me. It was within me.

He was only asking to be supported, and it seemed all so simple all of a sudden. It was easy to wrap my arms around his back loosely and pull him only that fraction of an inch closer to show that I got it. That I got him. A soft sigh escaped me, and I let my eyes slip closed, trusting the rest of my senses to take stock of the condition of the wounded hero that took refuge in my arms.

"God, Dean, you're freezing," I muttered absently, giving in to the urge to rub his back a little.

Dean shook his head, or I thought he did, since it was an almost imperceptible movement against my shoulder.

"Forgive me."

I blinked my eyes open, unsure that I had heard him right.

"What? Dean, I don't…" I started, and pulled away trying to catch his eyes.

Dean tensed and pressed himself closer against me, as if he feared that I was going to let go. It wasn't a tight grip; if I had wanted to pull away I could have. But there was nothing farther from my intention. Instead, I squeezed his back reassuringly.

"I don't blame you, Dean. I've never blamed you."

"But do you forgive me?"

I let out a soft laugh. It was a mystery how Dean managed to simply tune out anything that went against the low opinion he had of himself. But if forgiveness was what he needed, he'd have it. At least from me.

"Yeah, I forgive you. Of course I forgive you."

Dean let out a breath and leaned further into me; his weight was warm and solid against my chest despite his soaked clothes and I held him close, not really knowing whether I was supporting or hugging him anymore. I guess it didn't matter. He was trembling softly, but I didn't know if he was crying or just cold. I also couldn't tell if it was rain or tears that seeped into the fabric of my shirt. It didn't matter either.

Maybe someday I would forgive myself for knowing that a great part of my brother's choice had consisted on protecting me, but the least I could do was not calling him on it. He was back with me, and that was the only thing that mattered for real. So I closed my eyes and just accepted the gift.

* * *

**Just one more chapter, the Epilogue, to go. ****What did you think?**

**xx**


	11. Epilogue

**Hello! Guys, I'm seriously overwhelmed by the response this story has got. Thanks so much for reading. I hope you'll like this last installment. It's been a wonderful ride.**

**My best wishes to Em, my wonderful beta. Get well soon, babe!**

**Thanks again. ****On with the story.**

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* * *

  
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**Insomnia.**

**Epilogue**

_His brother never asked about the broken deal, although for days Sam noticed the wary glances Dean often shot at him. A few times, the younger brother realized Dean was staring at him worriedly and with no attempt to hide it. He also kept a close watch on the news, and during the week after that night he scanned twice as many papers and twice as closely._

_But no, Dean never asked him about it. And Sam never told him. He guessed that Dean suspected part of what he had done, but he didn't really want to know, because for him the worst case scenario when he had woken up had been losing Sam. Any other thing could be dealt with._

_To be honest, Sam was both grateful and ashamed by it._

_He caught Dean talking to Bobby on the phone too. It unsettled him, because his brother had never hid his conversations with the seasoned hunted, but all of a sudden there were hushed, tense tones behind closed doors. Dean looked angry after hanging up, but Sam didn't think Bobby had told Dean. And Sam didn't ask him either._

_Life went back to normal, or at least their kind of normal. They researched, hunted, fixed their wounds and moved on. They stayed away from demons, though, letting other hunters handle them. It wasn't anything they had discussed, but rather an unsaid agreement between the two of them. They had had enough of demon kind for a hundred lives and even if they were still burdened by a nagging sensation of responsibility after the devil's gate, neither of them seemed willing to go through a demon's cruel teasing while they sent him back to hell. The creatures said too many things, and unfortunately, they wouldn't have lie to hurt them._

_Anyway, their routine was efficient and familiar and, little by little, Sam felt himself starting to believe that Dean was really there, alive, and that he wouldn't be going anywhere for the time being. The sensation was overwhelming, and more than once Sam had to swallow back a sudden wave of emotion that came out of nowhere when he was bantering with Dean, or just looking at him. He figured it was normal, after everything, and it would fade with time. At least the silent tears that sometimes caught him from the back door would. The gratefulness, on the contrary, would never go away._

_After a couple of months passed, the brothers were kicking back at their motel over a few beers after having wasted a poltergeist in Iowa. There was nothing good on TV, and Sam had simply chosen a few albums for the laptop to play on random mode while Dean ranted loudly over dozens of creative ways to finish off a succubus, some of them far too colourful. Sam hadn't laughed so hard in weeks._

_An hour later, Sam was relaxed and slightly buzzed. Dean was rummaging somewhere in the room, and Sam let himself lean back against the pillow with a sigh. After a few seconds, Dean sat on his bed, across from Sam, and the younger brother felt his eyes on him._

"_We need to talk."_

_Sam didn't look at him, but his lips curled into a lazy smirk._

"_What? You gonna break up with me or something?" Sam retorted, amusedly._

_Dean didn't answer right away, and Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His brother smiled._

"_It's not you, it's me?" he played along._

_The smile didn't quite reach Dean's eyes, though, and Sam sobered up a little._

"_What's wrong, Dean?" he asked._

"_Nothing's wrong, man. Chill," Dean said with a soft laugh and a vague hand gesture. "It's just, I've been thinking…."_

"_You sure I shouldn't worry?"_

"_Funny," Dean growled good-naturedly._

_Prompting him to continue, Sam sat up on the bed and faced Dean. _

"_So," Dean started, "don't you think it's time you start thinking about going back to school?"_

_Sam only blinked at him._

"_Come again?"_

"_School," Dean repeated. "You know, place with lots of books and stiff dudes with glasses…"_

"_Dean!" Sam grunted._

"_Ah, c'mon, I'm just saying, you've been out for a while now. Don't you want to start up again?"_

_To say that Sam couldn't believe his ears was saying little. He stared at his brother in bewildered disbelief._

"Christo,_" he muttered._

"_Screw you," Dean retorted automatically._

_There was no heat in his brother's voice, rather a hint of amusement, but Sam didn't fully bring himself to laugh. As a matter of fact, he was tempted to go get the holy water just to be on the safe side. However, he chose to try to understand Dean instead._

"_Why are you telling me this now?" Sam asked, making a supreme effort to keep his voice even despite the nervous flutter in his stomach._

"_Well, let's see," Dean said. "You dropped school to help me find Dad."_

_Sam flinched slightly at that._

And then we lost him.

"_Then..." Dean continued, softening his voice, "then Jess died, and you stayed with me to get the son of a bitch that killed her."_

_Sam looked at him and swallowed._

And Mom.

"_We got him, but then there was the thing about...me and the deal and all that shit."_

_Sam clenched his teeth and looked down again. Dean let out a quiet sigh before continuing._

"_Man, all I'm saying is that for the first time in years, there's no impending doom looming over us. It's time you get your life back."_

_Dean was serious and Sam was past disbelief and full into the rage stage. He wanted to shout that _this_ was his life, and ask Dean why he believed he could decide what he wanted or what was best for him. Nevertheless, the blooming sensation of dread that crept inside him wouldn't let him throw a fit. He didn't want to fight, but being away from Dean? Sam's instincts rebelled at the mere idea, and Dean had to be really drunk to think otherwise._

"_Dude, what life?" Sam managed to respond. "Wanted by the FBI, supposed to be dead?" He snorted. "Any of this ringing a bell?"_

_Dean rolled his eyes._

"_Don't give me that, Sam. The semester starts in, what, a couple of months? We can work something out."_

_Sam could only gape at him. The buzz of alcohol had completely faded, and he was feeling cold and slightly queasy. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but then he closed it again. When he was able to utter a sound, it was just a simple syllable:_

"_No."_

_Dean wasn't fazed._

"_Why not?"_

"_Be-because..." Sam stuttered, riled up by Dean's calm. Then he exploded, "Because that's not my life anymore! I tried once, and it didn't work!"_

"_That's bullshit, Sam. You were doing just fine. Yellow Eyes took it from you, but he's not in the picture anymore. There's no reason not to take it back."_

"_How can you be telling me this!? After all we've been through this last year. I'm not leaving you!"_

_There was a minute of silence, heavy and charged, following Sam statement. The brothers avoided each other's eyes for a few seconds and finally Dean spoke. _

"_Don't be such a girl, Sam. This is not about leaving me. Isn't that what you've been trying to make me understand all this time, since Stanford?"_

_Sam cringed internally._

"_Dean, no."_

"_You can't tell me you wouldn't like it. You've never enjoyed hunting."_

_Dean's words stung. That wasn't exactly true. Not really. Again, without even knowing, Dean was making him feel like a selfish prick._

"_I like helping people." Sam argued._

"_Yeah, I know that." Dean nodded, placating, "But there're thousands of ways to help people, Sammy. Safe ways that won't put your life on the line all the time."_

_My_ life? Dammit Dean!

"_I said no."_

"_You wanted it once. You had a girlfriend and a 4.0 average."_

"_That's not fair."_

"_You were gonna get married, probably have kids."_

"_Stop it! Jesus, how can…"_

"_Sammy…"_

"_Just stop it!" Sam shouted and stood up abruptly._

_The room spun a little at the movement, and Sam was reminded of the beers he had had beforehand. Dean noticed his sway and made a gesture to stand up, but Sam recovered his balance and backed away and towards the door. He needed air._

"_Where are you going?" Dean asked, concerned._

"_Out," Sam barked._

_And before Dean had time to react, he exited the room slamming the door closed behind him._

_Sam returned a few hours later with a few shots of whiskey in him, and a bone deep exhaustion weighing his body and soul. Night was already settling in, and when he entered the room, Dean was sprawled on his bed pretending to watch TV. Pretending, since the TV was mute, and Dean's attention was inconspicuously on Sam the second he walked through the door. Too tired to deal with his brother, Sam avoided Dean's eyes, and simply collapsed on his bed with his back to the older Winchester._

"_It wouldn't be like last time, you know," Dean whispered after a short while._

_Right, and _Sam_ was like a dog with bone. Right now he just wished he could disappear into his pillow._

"_We'd talk on the phone, and I could drop by to hang out with you. I might need you now and then. You're faster at research anyway. And if it doesn't work,well, then we'll figure something else out." He paused to take a deep breath and then said, "I'm not leaving you either, Sammy."_

_Sam's chest tightened, and he shook his head, mulling over his brother's bittersweet words. However, his mind was woozy, and he felt like he was floating on the mattress. Sleep awaited him and only by letting go could he block Dean's well-intentioned attempt at tearing his soul apart._

"_I don't understand," Sam mumbled, the words slurred against the pillow. "I don't understand what's changed."_

_Dean kept silent for a long time before speaking again._

"_We can make it work, man. I think we should give it a try."_

_So Dean wasn't going to answer. It would become one of those things between them that would never be discussed, and Sam realized he had no right to demand otherwise. Dean wanted that, for them to be apart. And Dean was his big brother._

"_Okay…"_

_And he was always right._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

I knew that I could let go of Dean after he gave my arms a soft squeeze, reassuring and grateful at the same time. I let my hands fall loosely across his back, a last caress that acknowledged his "Thanks" and accepted his "I'm alright now". He pulled away, slowly, as if he wasn't quite ready to stand on his own after those long minutes of leaning into me and stepped back, without raising his eyes. I didn't push it, since experience had taught me that it took a while for Dean to speak about his emotions, but even longer to forgive himself for a moment of so-called weakness. I told myself that at least some of the desperation that seemed to be engulfing him a while before had faded, leaving only shame and weariness in its wake.

His clothes were still wet; mine were too, I realized when a shiver ran across my spine. I forced a smile, nudged him and nodded towards the bathroom.

"Go take a shower. It'll warm you up a little," I suggested.

He wet his lips and nodded disheartenedly, before obeying. I watched him disappear into the bathroom with a bitter sensation at seeing him so compliant. Shaking my head, I forced myself to snap out of my trance. We needed to move, and I was the one in a better condition to react. So I changed into dry clothes, retrieved some for Dean and proceeded to pack our stuff.

When he came out of the bathroom, I was practically finished, and we were about ready to go. Dean noticed the clean clothes and our packed bags and shot me a warm look, _almost_ a smile. He took the underwear, jeans and T-shirt I had left for him and after getting dressed, he stuffed the wet clothes in the bottom of his duffle bag. Then he stood, a bit unsure of what to do next.

"You ready to leave this place?" I asked.

He tossed a vague look around the room, took a deep breath and nodded. But instead of moving, he muttered, "Do you mind if we go somewhere first? There's something I need to do."

I studied him carefully, both curious and protective. I feared that he wanted to go to Lilian's again, and I didn't know what I would do if he insisted on it.

"Where's that?"

"White Pine Hill."

I blinked, caught off guard by his request. White Pine Hill was where Lilian's ashes had been spread, according to her mother. While I understood why my brother might want to go there, I also knew he wasn't the kind of person that channelled grief through symbols. He hadn't even wanted to go close to our mother's grave when he had had the chance.

"Are you sure?"

Dean swallowed and met my eyes steadily.

"Yeah, but I can go alone if you don't want to come." His face was blank, big brother's mask back in place. "It's alright, really."

On second thought, he had told me that he had gone to talk to Dad by his grave when the Djinn had sent him into his dream world.

"No, I'll go with you," I told him decidedly.

Dean nodded, and I could have sworn he looked relieved, so I guessed it had been the right thing to say.

White Pine Hill was a beautiful, quiet place, with lots of trees and soft grass carpeting the ground. When we parked the Impala and the rumble of the engine faded, the chirping chant of birds filled the car. It felt peaceful enough to allow a young girl's soul to rest. I wished it would also be enough to allow my brother's soul to heal.

After a few seconds of contemplative silence, we got out of the car at the same time, in an unspoken synchrony that time wouldn't erase. Dean, who had remained circumspect all the way there, tossed a look around and swallowed hard. He turned around to seek out my gaze, and I met his troubled eyes with an encouraging look of my own. I leaned against the roof of the car and gave him a soft "Go ahead" nod. I believed I shouldn't follow this time; making peace with himself was something that Dean needed to do on his own, but he also had to know that I would be waiting until he was ready.

Dean still took a minute before walking away. He gave me a trembling smile, and I sighed out the tension that gripped the pit of my stomach as soon as his eyes left mine. I hoped we weren't wrong about going to that place, but at least we were together. This time, I could keep watch.

My brother walked aimlessly for a few minutes, looking around him like a lost child, while I respectfully waited way too far away. I had to make use of all my willpower to remain where I was when he sank to the ground. When his shoulders started shaking, and he dug his hands into the ground I felt my heart literally breaking to pieces. Even then, I didn't dare go to him, even though I had never seen him so devastated.

Or maybe I had. That day, a couple of months after our father's death. Dean had gone to take a shower, and I had heard him crying in the bathroom, with sobs so broken-hearted that I felt their raw reverberation over the sound of the water. I hadn't gone to him that time either, but had remained frozen in place instead, fighting the giant lump that had lodged in my throat. Hearing my big brother crumbling was the most unsettling thing ever, and even though I had seen it coming for days, it still caught me off-guard.

We had both pretended it hadn't happened when he came out of the bathroom. But that night Dean sat with me on my bed to watch a movie on the laptop, and I had felt closer to him than I had in a very long time. I have the feeling that if I had put my arm around his shoulders then, he wouldn't have pushed me away. But it would have been like acknowledging his breakdown, and Dean would have internally hated himself even more than he did as it was. So we had just watched the movie and towards the end, I had felt his head on my shoulder, and I knew he had fallen asleep.

Maybe it was that night when he accepted to live in a world without Dad and decided to move on.

After a while, Dean calmed down enough for me to consider that it was safe to approach him without embarrassing him. He noticed me and swallowed, but he didn't stand up, so I crouched next to him and looked ahead, letting the peaceful landscape wash over my frayed nerves and his exhausted soul.

"You know," I started, "for what it's worth, I think she forgives you."

Dean glanced at me sideways. The trace of tears was still well visible on his eyes, but there was no need for me to comment on that.

"Yeah?" He rasped. "How do you figure?"

"Well, she…she died a sudden, violent death and it wouldn't be the first time a spirit stayed until it got revenge. She didn't, though. She moved on. She rests in peace, and that must mean that she forgives you," I answered with a gentle shrug.

Dean stared at me for a long moment as if I had gone absolutely crazy –and let's face it, at that point, it may also be true- but then he snorted softly and shook his head.

"Yeah, well," he said, weary and amused, "I hope you're right."

I gave a half smile, and we both remained silent for a while longer, simply breathing in the afternoon breeze and each other's company. Then Dean let out a heavy breath and hung his head low. I looked at him, expectant but patient, trusting that our closeness would do the trick. Finally, he sighed, wet his lips and weakly shook his head.

"God, Sam. I was so tired," he muttered. "I _am_ so tired"

I closed my eyes and gave a slow, understanding nod. When I opened them again, Dean was looking at me as if I was his only lifeline amidst and angry, endless sea.

"I'm glad you're here," he whispered.

I tilted my head and held his gaze with equal intensity.

"I'm glad to be here."

I patted his shoulder, stood up and held out my hand for him. Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed one more time before reaching out for my hand and allowing me to pull him to his feet.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_It all happened very fast after that night. Apparently Dean had been thinking about it for a while, and he had things pretty much figured out. A life of scams had given them the contacts and means to provide a clean record for Sam. Besides after Hendricksen's death -_their_ death- their files weren't highly secured anymore, so the younger Winchester was able to erase them and revive Sam Winchester from death._

_If someone had asked him, Sam would have called it ironic._

_Sam didn't want to go back to Stanford. Besides, with his record, he could be accepted anywhere. He had been already half way through his fourth year of school by the time he had dropped out of college, so there were only a few unfinished credits that he needed to reenlist for. Besides, nobody seemed to question that after Jessica's death he had taken a few years to decide what he wanted to do._

_Sam made up his mind to attend the University of Pennsylvania, and both brothers headed to Philadelphia. They found a cheap, disaster of an apartment, and for a couple of weeks, they worked together on making it habitable. They succeeded and, in a way, it was one of the happiest times in Sam's life. It was fun to work with his brother, despite Dean's constant teasing about how frigging girly playing house was. For the first time, Sam started to feel excited about the project._

_Then, three weeks before classes started, Bobby called Dean about a spirit in Delaware, and the older brother got ready to go, without even giving Sam time to react._

"_I'll go with you," the Sam said._

"_You gotta go pick out your furniture tomorrow, dude. Ain't you tired of sleeping on an air bed?"_

"_Screw the beds, Dean. I'll go with you. We can pick the furniture later and…"_

"_Sam, no." Dean refused with a resolute look that cut Sam off._

_The younger brother set his jaw and stared at Dean defiantly, eyes shinning._

"_You could need my help."_

"_It's a simple salt and burn, man. I'll be fine," Dean said with a carefree chuckle._

"_But classes won't start until next week."_

"_And I know you have plenty of stuff to do before they do."_

"_Dean…"_

"_Sam," Dean said sternly, "stop it, alright? We've talked about this."_

You stay. I go

_Sam shook his head weakly, pursing his lips to keep them from trembling. Dean's eyes softened._

"_What's wrong? I thought you were starting to like the idea. You went all geeky about the subjects and the books and everything else."_

_Sam averted his eyes angrily and kicked the edge of the air bed._

"_Whatever, Dean," he hissed and stomped to his soon-to-be bedroom._

"_Sam," Dean called him, "Sam, c'mon."_

_He followed Sam into his room where he ended up standing next to him. Sam looked moodily outside one of the room's two windows, without sparing Dean a single glance._

"_Hey, hey, man, don't do this." Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead, tiredly. "Look, I'll call you tomorrow, alright?"_

_Sam's head snapped towards Dean so fast he almost pulled a muscle._

"_You're leaving now? It's 9 o'clock, can't you stay the rest of the night?" Sam croaked._

"_If I leave now I'll be in Delaware by morning."_

"_But Dean!"_

"_Sam, I don't want to leave on bad terms," Dean pleaded, "I really don't."_

_Sam's heart tightened at that, and he reluctantly met his brother's anxious eyes. Sam didn't want it to be like the last time either; he wouldn't be able to stand that. But how could he just let Dean go alone in a hunt while he... What? Picked out furniture? It had to be the most insane thing Dean had ever asked from him and Sam felt pretty much as if his brother was asking him to let him die all over again. The mere idea threatened to suffocate him._

_"Please, Sammy," Dean whispered. "We agreed that we'd at least try."_

_Dean's soft voice went straight to his heart, breaking it further, and succeeding to tear Sam's defenses like a sharp knife cutting through a piece of paper. As much as Dean's near-death had shaken him, Sam knew he couldn't force Dean to live in his pocket forever, and he certainly hadn't saved his life so that he would have to spend it taking care of his little brother. Sam didn't want to be a burden. He had wanted Dean to live, even if it mean not within his sight._

_"You'll call?" Sam muttered._

_"First thing in the morning," Dean answered right away, with a beaming smile. "Pinky swear?"_

_Sam laughed despite himself, and ran a hand through his hair as he took a steadying breath._

_"Promise you'll be careful."_

_Dean's expression was grave, his voice serious._

_"I'm always careful, Sam," he reassured._

_Sam swallowed painfully and gave a faint smile. Dean wasn't exactly being honest since he'd been less than prudent on many occasions. Occasions like when Sam's life was in danger or like when he had thought he was going to die. Then again, Dean was safe now, and without Sam around he would take fewer risks._

_"Okay." Sam nodded. "Fine."_

_The younger Winchester didn't sleep a wink that night, and could only breathe again when Dean, loyal to his promise, called him in the morning and assured him that the trip had been uneventful and the hunt looked easy enough. He promised he would check in after he had wasted the spirit, and Sam agreed to go pick out his furniture._

_Dean called again past midnight, once the job was done. He told Sam that everything had gone alright, and since he didn't sound hurt Sam had to believe him._

_"So are you heading back here now or you wanna catch a few hours of rest first?" Sam asked._

_Dean hesitated and cleared his throat on the other end of the line._

_"See, that's the thing. I may have a gig near Seattle. A couple of bodies mauled in their houses. No signs of break-ins."_

_"You think it's a Daeva?"_

_"Maybe. So I'll probably stay the night here and take off at sunset."_

_Sam closed his eyes for a minute and made a conscious effort to keep his voice from trembling._

"_Alright." Sam forced the word out through the tightness of his throat._

"_So did you go pick up your stuff?"_

"_W-What?"_

"_You know, bed, tables..."_

"_Yeah." Sam swallowed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sat down on the closest chair. "Yeah, I gotta assemble a couple of things."_

_Damn, he felt tears coming to his eyes. When had he become such a pansy?_

It'll pass. Dean said it would work. I'll get used to this. Both of us will

_Apparently Dean had kept talking while Sam struggled to get a grip. By the time he was able to pay attention again, his older brother expected an answer on the other end of the line._

"_Sorry," Sam said, his voice firmer. "What did you say?"_

_Dean spoke after a second of silence._

"_I said," he began, teasingly and just a little bit worried at the same time, "do you have to go talk with the dean tomorrow?"_

_Sam smiled._

"_As soon as _he_ gets to Seattle, for _his_ sake"_

_Dean hesitated a moment, then huffed a laugh._

"_Dude, that must have been the lamest joke I've ever heard. Why are you at college again?"_

_Sam smiled a little to himself, enjoying a weird sensation of calm enveloping him at their brotherly banter. It helped balance him and steady his voice. It helped him fight the urge to beg Dean to take him along, because daevas were nasty creatures and because lonely nights could tear you down as quickly as their claws. Sam had to trust that the feeling of dejection would pass. He was an independent person, and he had always cherished whatever measure of freedom he could get. Fuck, he loved college and if trying it out didn't mean losing Dean, wouldn't that be like a dream come true?_

I don't know, Dean. You tell me.

"_Still there, Sammy?"_

"_Yeah, I'm here." Sam sighed._

"_So," Dean muttered awkwardly, "I think I'm gonna hit the sack, man. I'm beat."_

_Sam nodded. Then, after a too long second of silence, he realized that Dean couldn't see him and cleared his throat to reply._

"_You do that. You have a long drive tomorrow."_

"_Are you gonna be alright?"_

_Sam was caught off-guard by a sudden question so un-like Dean. It didn't get past him, the honest concern in his brother voice, and it made the situation a little easier to stomach._

"_No, Dean, I'll cry myself to sleep," Sam kidded. And before the degree of actual 'joke' in his statement could be put to the test, he added, "I'll be fine, man. You…you take care of yourself, okay?"_

"_You too, little brother."_

_Affection was clear in his voice. Maybe Dean was going to miss him a little too._

"_Good night, Dean."_

"_Night, bitch"_

_Sam laughed just as Dean hung up the phone. After leaving his own cell on the table, he took a few moments to collect himself and order his thoughts. He was still reeling at how weird it felt to know that Dean wasn't coming back that night. It all had happened so fast. One minute he was drinking a beer after a gig, the next he was painting his new apartment with his brother and, in the blink of an eye, Dean was headed to Seattle, and he had a bed to assemble in the next room. Only instead of getting to it, he was mentally calculating how far Seattle was from Delaware and what was the most probable road Dean would take._

_First thing in the morning, Sam was getting himself a map._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

It was major déjà vu to drive into the night with Dean in the passenger's seat, but this time the situation didn't made my gut clench in trepidation and uncertainty. I think some sort of weary sensation of helplessness had replaced the fearful anxiety that had driven us back to Colorado. Despite everything, I didn't regret coming. After all, if we had stayed in Philadelphia, I don't think we would have moved away from square one. At least now we knew. And alright, it was probably me, but I had always needed to find answers in order to keep going. Dean wasn't like that. He dealt better by ignoring the questions, and I had had to learn to respect that. Only it hadn't worked so well this time. As a matter of fact, it was what had brought us to this mess in the first place.

I glanced at him for the umpteenth time. Although he had his eyes closed, my brother wasn't asleep. I hadn't thought he would be. Things for us were never that easy. Besides, I imagined it would take a while for Dean to be able to relax in a car, of all places.

I wondered, though, whether Dean would be able to sleep now, at the very least. Of course, I knew my brother was far from okay, and it would take a lot for him to get over this. But first of all he needed to recover his strength: heal physically in order to start healing emotionally. And if the psychiatrist had been right, if Dean's insomnia had been about keeping irrationally alert because of something his memory had repressed, then his subconscious may stand down now that he had remembered. His rational mind could be persuaded that nothing would go wrong now if he let himself go.

I even toyed with the possibility of calling Dr. May for help, but it didn't seem like a good idea. I couldn't be sure she wouldn't call the police if I told her the truth, and I doubted she'd really be able to help us if I kept what had happened from her. I would have to trust my instincts with Dean, just as I had always done. It just scared me to screw up, because this was too fucked up and Dean was too important to get wrong.

"Sam?"

He had been silent for so long that hearing his voice surprised me. He was peering at me, from his slumped position against the passenger door; his lids were weighted by a tone of sorrow but his eyes were intent.

"Mmm?"

"I was gonna say 'that'."

"You were gonna say what?" I asked with a little frown.

"Back in the road, when we went where Lilian died...I was gonna say 'that,'" he said gravely, his eyes never leaving mine. "That I wouldn't forget what I had done because I wasn't like '_that'_."

I averted my eyes and blinked quickly, but he continued, regardless of my evasive front.

"I wasn't gonna say _'you'_, man," he assured as I swallowed thickly. "Mainly because you're not like that either."

I didn't know how he did it. As much as he was hurting, he somehow managed to switch the focus onto me. It was part of who he was and how he faced the world. We were each other's only constant and, in a way, right now he needed us to be alright just as much as I did. However, while for him making sure I was okay was as natural as breathing, for me, I felt unwelcome tears blurring my sight. I had to make a conscious effort to keep my breath steady. I didn't want to have that conversation, or I would break down on him right when he needed it the least.

Apparently, though, my mouth has its own ideas. While his autopilot mode instead of shutting the world out, mine had always sought the opposite. To be understood, comforted. And by the way, my way of operating was all my brother's doing, since he had raised me in the firm belief that no matter what happened, I could always go to him.

"But I don't regret it," I said thinly.

There was no need to clarify what I was talking about. How could he believe that I wasn't the monster I felt like?

"Yeah, I know that."

"Then, what kind of person does that make me?" I pressed, with a little hitch in my voice.

Dean remained silent for a few seconds, eyes fixed on the dashboard, while his throat worked. I barely dared to look at him. It was like that time, after learning about our father's last words concerning my destiny, but worse, because Dean had never believed I would go dark-side back then, not for a single second. But now he knew what I could do. Maybe not the details, no, he would never ask for them. But he still knew and as much as it hurt, it was impossible that he kept looking at me the same way. I couldn't even look myself in the mirror most days.

"Sam, remember a couple years back at that cabin, when we had gotten Dad, before, you know..."

_Before we knew that he was possessed. _

I nodded and ran a hand across my forehead, wiping the moisture collecting in my eyes while I was at it. I considered pulling over for a minute to pull myself together before we crashed, in more than one sense. It wasn't a conversation to have on the road. Then again, more than half of our lives had been on the road, and most of our real conversations had been there as well.

"I told you that, sometimes, it scared me how far would I go for you and Dad," Dean continued, his voice soft.

"I remember."

He gave me a little, shy smile and contemplated the landscape for some seconds longer, as if he was bracing himself to speak.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I get it. I really do."

The open emotion contained in his words almost undid me. I met his eyes for a long second, and he allowed me to, letting me drink in his honesty and urging me to let go of the guilt and the fear. He was trying to tell me he didn't hate me and when the realization sank in, I couldn't stop a rebel tear from rolling down my cheek. Dean didn't comment on it. Instead, he looked away before continuing.

"And I don't know...." He shrugged. "Maybe it does make us monsters; maybe we're just fucked up. Or...maybe..."

"Maybe it's what make _us_ a family," I croaked.

That pulled his attention back to me, but this time it was me who, instead of meeting his gaze, kept staring resolutely ahead. His lips drew up in a little smile and he nodded.

"Sam, I didn't push you away because I thought you were a monster," he said seriously, "and I'm sorry if I, in _any_ way, made you believe that."

I bit my lip and shook my head slightly, but I couldn't deny that his words had hit a nerve.

"Then why did you?" I whispered.

My brother looked at me with a frown, honestly puzzled that I was asking.

"Well, you asked me what had changed. _You_ had. You think you're a monster because it didn't affect you, but that's not true. You weren't happy, Sam. Not anymore."

"I had you, Dean," I growled, feeling my hands tightening on the wheel. "It was all that mattered!"

"And I could see that in your eyes, man, every time you looked at me," Dean assured. "But I also watched you when you looked somewhere else, when we hunted, and you weren't the same, little brother. You hated it."

"I didn't hate it." I protested, "It was just..."

I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Too many things had happened," Dean completed for me.

Amazed by his accurate insight, I let out the tense breath I had been holding and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't have said it better.

"I couldn't be the only thing that kept you there."

I let out a wet laugh, but apparently he still didn't see the irony in that argument, when he had repeatedly proved I was the only thing that kept him in this damn world.

"It wasn't fair, for either of us. I…It was too…"

"Scary," I finished for him, shooting him a meaningful glance.

Dean seemed to get it now and repositioned in the seat, uncomfortable.

"Well, then you understand," he grumbled.

I sighed my capitulation of the topic. No matter how hard I tried, making Dean see he was worthy by himself was like ramming against a stone wall. Besides, I had actually come to understand him a little better these last years. The most I aspired to achieve was to make him understand that respect and affection ran both ways. And what really hurt was that when I had managed to prove it to him, he had seemed to pull away instead of sticking with me. The moment I had become his equal, he had...abandoned me.

"You could have stayed with me."

I wouldn't have realized I had spoken aloud if he hadn't faced me then, eyes pained and lips pursed in a little grimace.

"Sammy." He exhaled. "Look, I don't know what to tell you. I really thought you could use a break."

"From you?" I half-exclaimed, incredulous. "Dean, I had just…"

"From everything, alright?"

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. Once, just once, I wished he wouldn't just assume he knew what I needed and asked _me_ instead.

"Did _you_ need a break from me?" I countered.

Dean laughed. Tired and weak but just as smug as ever.

"What's so funny?"

"Sam, do you remember how many beds there were in the room you found me in a couple of weeks ago?"

Random much? I thought, waffling between bitterness and surprise. But yeah, I remembered, of course, I remembered. I had a pretty good memory for layouts; I was a hunter after all...

_Two._

There had been two beds.

"Dude, I've missed my pain in the ass little brother every day," Dean said simply.

I could barely believe my ears.

"Then why couldn't you just…"

"Because, I love life on the road," Dean confessed finally. "I love hunting and, alright, the way we got started was so fucked up, the...the pressure Dad put us through while growing up sucked out loud. But he's not around anymore, and I still want to do it, Sam. I really do. I'm not made to settle down." He looked at me. "It doesn't mean that I don't wonder sometimes, or that I don't get tired or would like to take a break now and then. It's just that I still want to choose what I do and when. And let me tell you, I'd give anything, _anything_, to have you by my side, but you don't feel the same way, and I won't be like Dad. I can't. Because it will all make sense only as long as I don't lose you. Even if it means letting you go."

I couldn't utter a sound for the longest time after he finished, too shocked to even try. Those words had been what I had wanted to hear for years, however, they felt wrong in a way I couldn't place, until I realized that they had come from the wrong person, and at the wrong time. I didn't want Dean to let me go, never had, really. Unlike Dad, he had represented every bit of freedom I had when we had been younger.

If our father had understood that I needed to be my own person at eighteen, it would have meant more than the world to me. But I already was my own person now, and just as Dean had done, I had made my choices freely with awareness of my actions for a long time. And it was true too many things had happened. But I was going to have to deal with them, and Dean could only protect me to a certain extent. The only thing I knew was that being apart didn't work, not for me and clearly not for him.

When I finally found my voice again, all I could say was, "I miss you too."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Bone-weary and mentally exhausted, we arrived at my apartment by nightfall. When I looked up at the façade, being back felt surreal after the last couple of days. I glanced at my brother, who just returned my gaze, and we got out of the Impala at the same time. When I turned the key in the lock, I noticed that the door was shut, but not locked. Behind me, Dean huffed a breath.

"Alright, it's not like you have a bag of diamonds stashed under a tile, but aren't you being a little too trusting?"

I didn't honor him with a response, because I was smiling inside. When we got in, Dean and I let out a deep breath. He was about to drop his bag next to the couch, but I stopped him.

"Leave it in the study, will you?" I suggested.

Dean just shrugged and complied, heading to the study half stumbling under the weight of the duffle bag. I kept myself from offering my help and just saw him off, while my pulse accelerated in anticipation.

"What the…" I heard him exclaim. "Sam!"

I felt my lips tugging up and walked to him unhurriedly. He was standing at the door, staring at the room, and as I got to his side, I took a look at it myself. My former study was now a bedroom with a double bed, a closet, a desk and a bookcase with some books and magazines. On the walls there were even a couple of posters of Metallica and Black Sabbath, and I felt my smile widening.

"What…what's this?" Dean stammered.

"Do you like it?"

"When did you do all this?"

"I called Josh before we left. Left a key for him under the doormat," I explained, as I made a mental note to call Josh and thank him. "I just gave him a couple of directions about what you may like and he did the rest."

"This is…for me?" he asked, hesitatingly.

I let out a short laugh. He sounded just like a little kid on Christmas morning.

"Of course it is, doofus. It's your room."

Dean looked at me with something akin to awe. His tired eyes brightened, but he kept a firm grip on his emotions and just stared at me, lips pursed, and achingly shy.

"Sam…"

"Look," I said, placating, since I could anticipate his qualms, "I heard what you said in the car, alright? But being on the move doesn't mean you can't have a home-base. This isn't just my place. It never was, and I don't want it to be. This is your home too," I said firmly.

Dean swallowed, and his jaw trembled. For a moment, it seemed he was going to speak, but then he thought better and averted his eyes, studying the room again. His face softened, and he smiled slightly.

"I think this is the first time you called it that," he commented before glancing at me to clarify. "Home."

I realized he was right and just shrugged sheepishly.

"Maybe it's the first time it feels like home," I mumbled.

Dean's smile wavered, but he didn't tear his eyes from mine. Sometimes, eye contact was the only way we were able to keep our balance. I thought he was going to tell me off for being mushy, but he looked far too serious. He shook his head slightly, and his voice sounded apologetic.

"Sammy, I don't know how long…"

"I know," I said softly. "But who does? I mean, I don't know how long I am gonna…bear all this normal myself."

He chuckled, and it sounded suspiciously rough. I don't think he truly believed me, but I was being 100% honest. I had the feeling I didn't really belong to the hunt anymore, but while college was okay, I couldn't seem to find any real peace there either. Being content only seemed to work if Dean was around, and I couldn't bring myself to fight that certainty anymore. We were meant to be together and sooner or later I would follow him or he would follow me. It didn't matter which. When the time came, neither of us would have any regret.

"The only thing that matters is, do you want to be here now?" I asked.

Dean dragged in a shaky breath and nodded, full of emotion.

"Yeah", he whispered. "Yeah, I think so."

It was all that had to be said. Trying to erase the guilty look in his eyes at the quiet admission of his need, I smiled easily at him.

"Then just get settled. I'm gonna take a quick shower."

"Okay."

I waited for him to meet my gaze and nod, because his one-word response had sounded too feeble and automatic. I wasn't about to disappear from his sight while he didn't feel ready to let me go.

"Oh, go on. You reek."

I laughed. I guess he had just given me "official leave".

Fifteen minutes later, I finished showering and went to find Dean. He was in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed and curiously leafing through one of the magazines on classic cars that Josh had left on the bookcase. His duffle bag was neatly placed by the bed. I sighed internally at his awkwardness. He was never this tidy or timid when he felt at ease. He turned motel rooms into a chaos in a matter of minutes and only seemed hesitant to move or touch anything when someone invited us into their house.

It didn't matter, I told myself. In time, when he was convinced that it wouldn't all disappear the moment he got attached to it, he would feel more comfortable. Time. It healed everything. Or almost. It numbed things anyway, and that's what allowed us to keep breathing. And we had time now. We were together and had a whole life ahead.

"Hey," I called with a soft knock on the open door.

Dean glanced at me in acknowledgement and gave a hint of a smile, but kept his eyes on the magazine. I tilted my head and stepped into the room.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's just, you know…" he grimaced and looked up at me with a vague shrug. "I can't really stop thinking about it."

I offered him a weak smile. Of course he couldn't stop thinking about Lilian. His following words, though, made my smile drop and my blood grow cold.

"Do you realize how many lives have been lost on my account?" he mused, almost to himself. "Not only Lilian. Marshall, Layla, Dad…" He shook his head. "Whoever you…"

"It's never been your fault, Dean." I said, cutting him off.

"Yeah. Maybe. Still, they died because of me, Sam."

Hell if I didn't know the feeling.

"And I need to make it right. How do I make it right?"

I looked into his eyes and spoke calmly.

"You do what you've always done, Dean. You be the best person you can be. You do as much good as you can, and it'll get better."

"You think?"

"Yeah," I answered firmly.

"When?" he asked, so soft I barely heard him.

I bit my lip and breathed deeply, because it was too big a temptation to give in to the need to reassure him that it would all soon pass, when it wasn't like that. It wasn't so simple.

"When it's time."

Which wasn't less true. I should know. Dean nodded, understanding and accepting. Grateful, somehow, that I had been honest and not overly optimistic. And especially that I intended to stay by him for as long as it took.

"Are you hungry?"

Dean shook his head, no, and put the magazine aside with a soft sigh.

"Maybe you should try to get some rest," I suggested.

My brother smiled at me, knowing that I had purposely left out the word "sleep".

"Yeah, you too."

"Okay. Do you…"

"I don't need anything, man. Everything's fine."

"Fine."

I studied him for a few seconds longer and then turned to leave.

"Sam…"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "For this," he motioned at the room. "For everything."

I shook my head. He was my brother, and I didn't want him to thank me at all. My reply, consequently, wasn't just a simple formula. I meant every word.

"Don't mention it."

I stepped out the room but turned to look at him one last time. He was looking at his duffle bag and then around the room as if he was trying to figure out what to do next. For a moment, he looked so…lost. He hadn't looked so forlorn since the weeks after our father's death, when his entire world had been shattered. Even then he had had the strength to keep his walls up most of time.

"Hey," I went back inside on an impulse. "Wanna watch a movie or something?"

Dean stared at me for a couple of seconds. At first he seemed surprised, but he accepted the offer almost immediately.

"Sure."

"Alright, I'll bring the laptop."

"Dude, don't you have a nice TV in the living room?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't have a nice DVD player to go along with it," I countered, good-naturedly.

"Well, we'll have to do something about that," Dean pointed out.

I found myself grinning stupidly at his use of the plural form as I retrieved the computer.

"What do you want to watch?" I asked, back in his room.

"What do you have?"

"That you'd like?" I teased. "Brainless action, brainless action with explosions…"

"Ha, ha, ha," he said, and elbowed me.

"You mean you prefer brainless action with chicks and cars?"

"Well, that sounds about right!"

I chuckled as I picked out _Transformers_ and started playing it. We stretched out on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, with our backs against the headboard. I felt myself relaxing almost immediately, and I sensed him doing the same. The familiarity of it all washed over us like a balm. Stealing a glance at him, I wondered if he was also remembering that night after he had broken down in the bathroom a few weeks after Dad died. Everything had seemed unfixable then too, but here we were. And though I didn't know how we were going to work it out in the future, there was no need to dwell on it for the time being. We would cross that bridge when we came to it and I didn't doubt for a second that we'd find a way to be together. Either that or we'd just make a whole new one.

I felt his head come to rest on my shoulder half-way through the movie.

* * *

**THE END**


	12. Author's Note

A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry… I know I shouldn't post this. I just thought it would be nice to add a note in Insomnia saying that the story has a sequel, in case some of you (if you have gotten this far with the story) would like to check it out.

Now, my first idea was to add it to the end of the last chapter, but of course the site doesn't keep the documents editable for so long. Uploading it again would mean that I would have to worry about last minute corrections or typos I catch the last time, so…

In short, there is a sequel ;) _Unleashed Fury _(link in my profile)

Thanks for bearing with me!

L xx


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